


Vexation

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A helping of degradation, Banter, Blow Jobs, Canon Universe, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Embarrassment, Embarrassment Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Peter is Daddy, Power Imbalance, Roleplay Logs, Sassy Peter Hale, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: Now, this isn't the first time he's been pushed against things, but it's usually for the purpose of getting him out of harm's way and it's definitely not been with a clawed hand on his chest and Peter standing in his way.Incredulousness mixes with a volatile spike of arousal because hey, what young man hasn't thought of being pinned to something by a hot werewolf.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 33
Kudos: 129





	1. Pinned to a tree

**Author's Note:**

> Started this last year, decided to jump back in the sin pool and swim around~ The catty/bratty dynamics with this Steter iteration were too much to resist. 
> 
> Probably no oncoming plot, we just wanna write more spicy scenes with Peter and Stiles.
> 
> ⇨ _While there is technically omorashi/wetting that occurs, it's not the main focus of this current chapter or a kink that we're hot 'n heavy about. It's really just underlying Peter being dominant and the appeal of desperation and embarrassment._ ⇦
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format.
> 
> At times the flow can be jarring - we know - but please forgo any constructive criticism regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and go on your way. Thanks! :)
> 
> Stiles written by [merrythoughts](https://merrythought.tumblr.com/) | Peter written by ReallyMissCoffee

* * *

* * *

Stiles is stuck with Peter Hale because he's the only one that can, more or less, handle being around the beta. Which isn't saying much, but Stiles prides himself on being practical and Peter knows _stuff_ and is sometimes helpful. So yeah, that's why Stiles doesn't put up too much of a fuss when it comes to being paired off with Peter for another night of parking at the outskirts of the preserve to keep an eye out on things because there's been some weird markings.

They're in Peter's sportscar because Peter refuses to be seen in the Jeep, the picky asshole that he is - but even Stiles can admit that Peter's car is more comfortable. Unfortunately, prior to getting into Peter's vehicle, Stiles had chugged a lot of caffeinated soda to be able to push himself for this all-nighter. He's beginning to feel the consequences of this decision now, and while he's tried to ignore it for the past fifteen minutes, he doesn't think he's going to be able to muster it for much longer.

"I'm gonna take a walk," Stiles says and he doesn't know why he doesn't tell Peter the truth - that he needs to piss - but it's probably because Peter has begun to flirt with him a little and Stiles hasn't yet figured out how to respond. Plus, it just feels weird to mention anything to do with his dick given that his dick, at times, is a little interested in Peter (the traitor).

With a shaky hand, he lets himself out of the car and the feel of the crisp air is only mildly refreshing as Stiles fights against the growing urgency.

* * *

Surveillance is impossibly boring on the best of days, and this one is only slightly above expectation. Or at least... it is at the beginning of the evening. Stiles is prone to incessant chatter, and Peter would rather not get blood on his upholstery, so he takes the muttered comments and complaints in stride. There's nothing _in_ the woods; Scott is being overly-cautious. Peter half-suspects this is just some misguided attempt to have Stiles humanize him by repeated exposure, but Scott has never been particularly bright, or subtle. If anyone's going to be influenced by the other, it's not going to be Peter.

It's not that important, though. It might be under different circumstances, but Peter's been slightly distracted for the past half hour or so.

It had been subtle at first, just a sudden scent of slight discomfort, hardly anything to write home about. Then the slight shifting had started, and again, Peter had chalked it up to Stiles' inability to sit still. But when the scent had edged into a sort of genuine discomfort and growing desperation, it hadn't taken Peter long to figure it out. And, well... how is he supposed to pass up an opportunity like that?

So he enjoys himself, subtle and easy, laying on a bit of charm just to watch Stiles get more flustered. And when he finally reaches over to get out of the car, Peter smirks to himself and seamlessly climbs out as well.

"I'll come with you," he says with faux-innocence. "The _last_ thing I need is Scott accusing me of anything nefarious because you left me alone for ten minutes."

* * *

Stiles isn't so lucky in his attempt to escape and then urinate. Go fucking figure that Peter decides to pester him under the ruse of him not wanting to get in trouble from Scott. It's when Peter comes to stand beside him that Stiles seriously wonders if Peter somehow _knows_. Can werewolves smell this kind of thing? He knows that arousal and fear and anger all have distinct chemosignals, but what about-- god, he can't even think about it. That'd be too whack.

"Uh huh, sure," Stiles says back. Maybe once Peter gets bored, he'll head back to the car. Peter's left him before, it wouldn't be unheard of, which is why Stiles always makes sure his phone is charged and on him in case he needs extraction.

Stiles doesn't wait for Peter to lead. This was his decision to go for a walk, so he hurriedly tromps forward into the woods, praying that his bladder can outlast Peter's presence. If he can't, he'll have to man up and just tell Peter that he needs to take a whiz. It doesn't need to be a big deal, and yet somehow... Stiles feels awkward about it, his cheeks a little warmer at the idea of having to admit such a thing.

And because Stiles is distracted and trying to _not_ feel awkward about such a non-sexy declaration, it means that he misses stepping over a fallen log and then proceeds to fall forward.

* * *

Peter's wondering how long it will take before Stiles does something ridiculous. Clearly it won't be that long, because Stiles is perpetually in the process of doing something clumsy or ridiculous, but Peter's more than willing to wait. Besides, it does give him the rather interesting sight of Stiles flushed in the face, his embarrassment obvious. Oh, Peter knows, but he's not going to make it obvious. There's no fun in playing his hand too soon.

So he lets Stiles lead and he comfortably falls into step behind Stiles. Peter turns up the collar of his leather jacket against the faintest chill in the air, but mostly because it makes him look as though he has no plans on going back to the car.

Before he can say anything, though, before he can even _begin_ to subtly dig at Stiles, Stiles proves that he is, and always will be, _Stiles_.

Peter's hand jerks out instinctively and his fingers grab hard in the back of Stiles' hoodie. He scents Stiles' alarm the moment before Peter jerks him back upright, and when he looks at Stiles again, he looks just shy of exasperated.

"One does usually _try_ to look where they're going in a forest, Stiles."

* * *

This sucks. Because it's not as if Stiles is perpetually clumsy, it's just that his rate tends to go up when in the presence of one Peter Hale. Peter, with his dickbag hair and hot ass, Peter with his stupidly hot leather jacket and chest-bearing shirts, Peter with his smug handsome face and smarmy-but-still-pleasing voice… How is a bisexual boy supposed to cope?

Apparently by making an idiot of himself, but not as much as he _could_ have because whip-quick werewolf reflexes are here to save the day and Stiles doesn't faceplant greet the forest floor. He unfortunately gives a little yelp as Peter steadies him by means of his hood, but all things considered, it's not technically meeting his demise.

Embarrassed by this near slip, Stiles tries to clear his throat as he pulls away from Peter's hold. His pulse jumps and he scowls at himself because he's noticed this _thing…_ that if he's tripping or making an idiot out of himself, _Peter_ is paying attention to him.

"Unlike you, I don't have great night vision, okay," Stiles retorts.

He then grimaces because after being shaken up, the need to piss is even greater. With a slow exhale, he tries to ignore the discomfort and soldier on. Peter should get tired soon, especially if Stiles works hard on _not_ giving Peter any more ammunition.

* * *

Peter smirks the moment that Stiles turns away from him, amused despite the situation. He doesn't need to hover, doesn't need to push in order to antagonize Stiles, but it is fun to do. Still, Peter doesn't actually want Stiles to break his neck in the forest, both because life would admittedly be boring without him, and because Peter doubts he'd ever hear the end of it. Or live long after.

If there's one thing that Scott _had_ gotten right, it's that Peter's desire for self-preservation will ensure that he keeps Stiles alive.

But that doesn't mean that he needs to make Stiles' life _easy_. Breathing in the scent of embarrassment and the idle interest that almost always rests in Stiles' scent like a cloak when Peter is around, Peter takes a few longer strides and falls into step beside Stiles. He doesn't glance at him, doesn't make his amusement known, but this is much more interesting than just sitting in his car.

"For the record, though I feel as though it goes without saying, you _do_ have a werewolf with you. One who does happen to have excellent night vision. You could always let _me_ lead. Seeing as I can actually see in front of me."

He glances back at Stiles and arches an eyebrow almost imperiously. He enjoys putting Stiles on the spot like this.

* * *

Stiles isn't an idiot. He knows that _Peter_ should lead, but that doesn't mean he wants to hear Peter say it. In fact, he most definitely doesn't want to hear Peter give his two cents - or any cents - on the matter. Stiles clenches his jaw, lips pursed. He's irritated, but he's still like... engaged. Peter has this thing about him that makes Stiles enjoy arguing with him even if he can't win. Maybe that's why Stiles still puts up with Scott shoving Peter his way or more accurately Stiles being directed at Peter.

It's in no way easy to have to piss this bad and try and banter with Peter all the while carefully walking through the damn preserve. But Stiles isn't at the point where he _needs_ to go - like he does, he totally does - but he's not going to piss himself. A few more minutes. He can last that long. Peter just needs to get tired of him.

"You can lead yourself back to your car, I'm fine," Stiles insists, but despite his claim, he does hang back and let Peter go first... although there's no guarantee that Peter _won't_ lead him to his demise. Stiles'll have to take that risk because he also doesn't want to fall due to his own volition.

* * *

It comes as no surprise to either of them that Stiles has absolutely no control over himself. Peter looks at him, watching as Stiles grumbles his dismissal, but despite what he _says_ , when Peter turns on his heel and begins to stalk off down the litter-ridden path, Stiles falls into step behind him.

Peter glances back over his shoulder only once and, more for Stiles' benefit than for his own, Peter lets his eyes glint blue in the darkness. It does, admittedly, make it easier to see in the dark, but Peter hasn't missed the way that the sight of his eyes never ceases to get Stiles going. It's entirely satisfying to hear his pulse pick up like Peter's just pressed claws to his skin.

Besides, he smells so _wonderfully_ desperate. It's entirely too pleasing.

"Was there any particular _goal_ you had in mind by coming out here, or were you just bored?"

* * *

When Peter's eyes glint electric-blue, a surge of unwelcome arousal shoots through Stiles. He can't help it, okay. He's always been attracted to danger and the supernatural, and that's Peter freakin' Hale in a nutshell.

Stiles is certain that Peter knows, too. Peter _has_ to know because Peter can smell horny and listen to his heartbeat and Stiles can't really mask that (at least not without dousing himself in enough cologne to give himself a headache). But this is bad timing all around because Stiles _does_ need to piss and he definitely _doesn't_ want to pop a boner.

Peter's question is stupid and Stiles sighs in agitation, trying to focus on taking careful steps so he doesn't fall, and also trying to ignore the growing desperation.

"I just wanted fresh air," Stiles lies and he's entirely aware that Peter is giving him an opportunity, that he could just come clean that he needed to go for a piss, but for some reason Stiles doesn't want to. He's lasted this long.

"You didn't need to come with."

* * *

Peter can always count on Stiles coming through on that front at least. Peter's lips pull into a small smirk, shielded by the night as they pass under a tree with boughs that jut out and eclipse the moon. It gives Peter time to bask in his satisfaction that Stiles is so hot for him. Oh, they've not done anything, and frankly Peter finds riling Stiles up just as enjoyable - if not more so - than the idea of actually indulging.

It's always hilarious to watch Stiles react if they're in front of the pack, and to watch Scott's expression pinch and then look at Derek, as if _hoping_ that Derek had been the one to do something instead of Peter.

It's the small victories, really. And as Peter meanders down the path with Stiles behind him, he adds that one to his mental scoresheet. He's five to zero after the last thirty minutes, and counting.

"On the contrary," Peter scoffs dismissively, waving an absent hand in the air. "Trouble _does_ have an uncanny knack for finding you, Stiles. Case and point: twenty seconds ago. You could have snapped your neck."

* * *

Arousal and attraction don't make sense, because Peter may _look_ hot, but Peter isn't really a good person-slash-werewolf, right? He's not the kind of guy you bring home to meet your parents. Peter's an asshole and a jerk and he delights in being difficult - okay, honestly, Stiles is like that too, but he isn't diabolical at least. Maybe it's the whole appeal of a bad boy, but even that sounds lame to Stiles.

So, needless to say, he isn't thrilled over his general weirdo attraction to Peter, nor is he thrilled that Peter is getting under his skin now. But he thinks his current grumpiness is likely due to the predicament of his need to go number one, because Peter really isn't being any more douche-y than he normally is.

"I wasn't going to snap my neck," Stiles snorts as he follows after Peter. "Maybe a sprained something with a side of bruised ego, but nothing I haven't sustained before."

To his horror, he's pretty sure the whole walking and jiggling thing isn't helping either. _Fuck_.

* * *

Peter gives brief consideration to setting Stiles up for a fall. Honestly, it wouldn't be _that_ horrible considering he'd be there to catch Stiles, but he can't help but picture it just the same. There are a few stray roots in the path and Stiles is already awkwardly shuffling along, his gait attempting to be normal despite the many reasons why it can't be.

He considers it, but ultimately... there _is_ a risk that Stiles could legitimately fall, and Peter doubts the resulting conversation would be as enjoyable as he wants it to be.

Besides, there's definite amusement in the thought of Stiles trying to keep in step with him, undoubtedly only making his 'predicament' worse. Peter smirks, his eyes still glinted bright blue as he looks around.

"Nuance. If you hurt yourself, Scott would blame _me_. And as much as I _really_ don't care, I'm not particularly in the mood for his self-righteousness today. What's wrong?" He adds, because he's an ass.

"Did you hurt your leg? You're walking oddly."

* * *

Much to Stiles' dismay, Peter isn't wrong about Scott. Scott _would_ definitely blame Peter if Stiles came back with bruised or sprained anythings. And when Peter's right, it just irks Stiles even more, like a paper cut he can't ignore. He _should_ be able to ignore Peter, and yet…

Does Peter stop there? Oh, no, no of course not. Stiles has apparently done something to anger the heavens because Peter asks about him, if he's okay, as Peter's noticed his "odd walking."

"No, I did not hurt my leg," Stiles over enunciates in his exasperation. Fuck. He'll just bite the bullet, tell Peter, and do his business. It doesn't need to be a big deal.

"I just gotta piss, so if you'll excuse me.”

See? He survived. He's surviving. And Stiles takes a sharp turn, looking to put some distance between Peter and him. Nice thing about the woods is that he can just _go_. He doesn't need to find a bathroom and he doesn't need toilet paper, he'll get this over with quickly and it'll be done.

* * *

Oh, there are so many ways that Peter can handle this. That's the problem, isn't it? So many choices, so little time. He smirks to himself as Stiles is finally, blissfully blunt with him, and while Stiles doesn't sound embarrassed, it's only a matter of time.

Peter _could_ just let him go. He's tempted to. He's tempted to allow Stiles the freedom to go off on his own and revel in the knowledge that Peter had made him admit it. But as Peter watches Stiles sharply start to walk away, a different idea glints in his mind. He considers it, contemplative, as though weighing the benefits.

There's no warning between Stiles' next step and Peter's hand suddenly grabbing in the back of his hoodie. Peter doesn't give Stiles time to protest; he just yanks Stiles off course and then shoves him bodily back against an aged oak, Peter's clawed hand flat on his chest, keeping Stiles pinned.

Peter looks at him curiously, as though this is just any other conversation.

"I suppose I _could_ excuse you, but where's the fun in that? Honestly, youth these days. No self-control. I'm sure you can hold it."

* * *

See? It's fine - or starts off fine. Unfortunately for Stiles, his relief over the knowledge that he's going to be able to piss is short-lived. Like, almost nonexistent. For no discernible reason, Peter intervenes, a hand shooting out and the grip unbreakable even if Stiles had had his wits about him.

Which he doesn't because Stiles is so focused on making distance between Peter and him so he can piss in relative privacy.

But that doesn't happen and in a daze, Stiles finds that he's suddenly against a damn tree. Now this isn't the first time he's been pushed against things, but it's usually for the purpose of getting him out of harm's way and it's definitely not been with a clawed hand on his chest and Peter standing in his way.

Incredulousness mixes with a volatile spike of arousal because hey, what young man hasn't thought of being pinned to something by a hot werewolf.

But Stiles has bigger problems than that because from Peter's douchebag mouth douchebaggery comes forth and Stiles doesn't have time to argue about this. He needs to go. So he takes a deep breath before trying to break free, both his hands wrapping around Peter's wrist in an attempt to pry Peter's hand off his chest.

"I've already _been_ holding it, asshole, so c'mon and let me go!"

* * *

Really, this is as good as punctuation as far as Peter's concerned. He's curious to see what will happen, but he's _also_ curious to see how Stiles will handle this. There's always the possibility that Stiles could cry out, could shout for Scott or Derek, and they'd likely hear him. It might take them some time to get here, but Peter _hopes_ that Stiles isn't going to ruin the fun this way. Besides, when _else_ is Peter going to get a chance like this?

Stiles struggles, indignant, and Peter lets his glowing gaze slide down, looking at the front of Stiles' jeans idly. There's no denying that Stiles is slightly hard, though that's more because Peter can scent his arousal. That's not exactly a _foreign_ concept to Peter; Stiles is usually in some state of arousal around him or Derek, but it seems much more interesting now.

Oh, this could backfire wholeheartedly but Peter doesn't care. He smirks and keeps his hand exactly where it is, idle, almost casual. He holds Stiles back firmly, not budging in the slightest. Stiles isn't even close to strong enough to make a dent in Peter's hold.

"I don't think you understood me. I _mean_ I'm sure you _will_ hold it. It won't kill you to live in discomfort for a little while longer, and it might even help teach a lesson."

* * *

What. The. Fuck. Stiles has no idea what Peter's playing at here. Actually, he's hoping it's not a game at all; if some angle or hook does exist, that would mean that Peter is engaged, and if Peter is interested, getting Peter to stop will be much more difficult. Great. And yes, Stiles is aware that he's actually the same way, but that's not the issue right now.

Stiles knows he can't stop or get away on his own, but he tries anyway. It's the principle of the matter here and he can't just not attempt it. While Stiles is aware that he _could_ shout for someone else - Scott usually doesn't venture too far when he knows that Stiles is with Peter - but man, it would totally suck to have to explain this situation. Besides, Stiles is pretty sure that Peter would just stop as soon as Scott or Derek got even close and then what?

With the glow from Peter's eyes, it's all too obvious when those blue eyes flick down at his crotch. Given the position he's in and the fact that Peter's all sexy half-wolf with his claws and eyes, Stiles _does_ happen to be a little hard (which Peter could smell anyway).

Amazingly, Peter doesn't actually mention this problem, but what Peter _does_ say is more pressing because it certainly doesn't look like Peter is going to be nice about this. Fuck.

Stiles' thighs shake as he presses them together, trying to fight against the growing pressure inside.

"Yeah it might not kill me, but I don't want to piss myself," Stiles retorts and tries again in vain to wrest himself away, his fingernails digging into Peter's wrist. He can't believe he's in this position and that this is happening.

* * *

Peter doesn't doubt that later, Stiles is going to wonder what changed. Frankly, Peter has no easy answer for that. He's a creature of opportunity, and how could he have resisted such a glorious chance for a little fun? It's not like he doesn't flirt with Stiles casually, if only to see him flustered and awkward and tripping over himself. It's fun, it's a game, and Peter is more than pleased to be the object of such attention. He has pride enough to admit that.

So really, this is no great stretch of the imagination. Stiles struggles, incredulous, and Peter gets to watch his thighs press together as he fights his own body. It's an attractive sight; Peter has always appreciated intensity and desperation. What better way to observe it than this?

"Oh, you won't," Peter dismisses with a scoff, but he doesn't move his hand either. Instead, he leans in a bit closer, pressing down a little harder against Stiles' chest to keep him properly pinned.

"I won't let you back into my car if you piss yourself. Besides, it is _notoriously_ difficult to find relief when you're aroused. And considering you're well on your way, I don't think that'll be a problem for you." Peter smirks, a quick cut of amusement clear in his eyes.

"My suggestion would be to not drink so much before going on a stake-out in the middle of the woods."

* * *

Werewolf strength is totally unfair, okay. Stiles can't get Peter's hand off of him. Where's some wolfsbane when Stiles needs it? Nowhere, that's where. Not that Stiles would use it, but he'd at least threaten it... Well, considering it's Peter, maybe he would use it. Peter could take it - the guy has an affinity toward popping back up no matter what.

When Peter speaks, Stiles' fingers stop digging in so hard, his attempt at getting Peter to relent stopping. Eyes narrowed, Stiles tries to desperately think of some angle that he can take to get out of this because he's beginning to worry that he can't hold it and he's not a kid. He's not about to piss himself - _in_ his clothes - _and_ with Peter Hale as a witness. That sounds horrible.

It only gets worse when Peter mentions that it's difficult to urinate while having a boner and while Stiles isn't fully hard, he isn't soft. And somehow Peter pointing that out sparks embarrassment with something hot twisting through his body. Stiles shudders and he turns his face away, not wanting to look at Peter directly (needing a break, his mind unhelpfully offers).

"Thanks for the suggestion, asshole," Stiles mutters. "A little late now." He's breathing quicker but he keeps his hands wrapped around Peter's wrist as if it's some anchor.

* * *

This is likely pushing far beyond what is at all advisable and if anyone finds out that Peter's done this, he doesn't think he'll need to worry about living through it. He most definitely won't. If Scott doesn't kill him, Derek's likely to try, and he's fairly convinced that Malia will have a go at it if Stiles goes to any of them later. Still... Malia isn't foolish and Peter knows that she's noticed Stiles' reactions to Peter. Clearly she's not overly bothered, even if she _has_ sent the both of them grimaces before.

Stiles' interest in him isn't exactly subtle, after all.

Still, watching Stiles now, seeing the look on his face and the way that he awkwardly meets Peter's eyes and then almost immediately looks away, Peter smirks. He can smell Stiles' arousal spike slightly and this might be a horrible idea, but it is fun. Peter doesn't really _intend_ anything.

He'll mess with Stiles, he'll push him to extreme levels of discomfort, and Stiles will eventually laugh it off, call him a creep, and they'll move on with their lives. That's what Peter has planned.

But watching Stiles squirm and scenting that edge of desperation climbing, it is... becoming more difficult to remain objective. Peter's smirk deepens, and when Stiles looks away from him, Peter helpfully ducks his head to meet Stiles' eyes again.

"You know, I _could_ help a little with that. If you ask nicely."

* * *

He's slightly aroused because Peter is hot, his eyes are werewolf evil ice blue right now and he's got his claws out. Stiles is a little turned on because he's being pinned to a damn tree and being pinned to things is apparently something he's into, so sue him. It makes sense. This isn't even new, but Peter being super blatant is.

And it's weird, because Peter generally just makes some snide asshole remarks, but nothing comes of it. Peter seems able to tolerate him well enough, but Peter isn't _into_ him, at least Peter hasn't _done_ anything to make Stiles think that.

Peter doesn't let him avert his gaze and when Peter's words register, Stiles' mouth falls open because Stiles thinks... Stiles thinks that Peter is _offering?_

"What the--?" Stiles begins and wets his lips, shooting Peter an incredulous look. "You're going to help my semi go away if I ask nicely?"

* * *

'Objectivity' is very quickly flying out of the window as Peter watches Stiles turn back to him incredulously. While Stiles can't see it, Peter can see the higher spots of color on his cheeks despite the slight chill in the night air, and the knowledge that Stiles is slightly hard, desperate, _and_ embarrassed is a little like waving vodka in front of an alcoholic.

He shouldn't, obviously. This is fun, but it's not worth potentially dying over. And yet...

Yet Peter smells the spike of interest when he makes his offer, and maybe this game is more genuine than teasing, all of a sudden. So sue him, he's always appreciated other people being attracted to him. Peter eyes Stiles speculatively.

"I could do a _lot_ of things if you ask nicely," he drawls back. "But yes, I suppose you can narrow it down to that if you'd rather."

* * *

Stiles isn't quite sure if Peter's supposed _offer_ of helping is like... getting his semi hardon to go away by means of an orgasm or by like, annoying the sexual desire away. Both are feasible. Stiles would rather be let go, stomp away, gather up whatever shambles of dignity he has left, then his traitorous dick would calm down and he could then pee which would result in glorious relief.

But the look on Peter's smug face? Yeah, what Stiles wants isn't going to be happening.

"If I'd _rather?_ " Stiles echoes back, skeptical. "This is your game, Peter!"

Getting upset is much easier than thinking about Peter doing a lot of things if he asks nicely, but damn, Stiles' dick twitches anyway. He's going to blame it on the fact that he didn't get off today.

* * *

"It is my game," Peter confirms, the smirk evident in his voice as his gaze drops down. He doesn't miss the way that Stiles' dick twitches in his jeans, and he's already gone this far. He might as well see where this leads.

"And if it's _my_ game, and you're pinned here, I'd suggest that you start playing it."

Peter lets that statement rest for a moment as he reaches over with his free hand. Slowly, with obvious intent, Peter slides his hand down. He moves it from Stiles' shoulder, down past his chest, and he settles it low on Stiles' stomach, where the pressure is likely starting to become uncomfortable. Smirking, Peter presses down just a bit, delighting in the fact that Stiles can't exactly find relief while he's hard.

"Now... I believe you were about to ask me something?"

* * *

This can't be happening. Seriously. How is this his life? How is he so unlucky? Maybe it would be different if Stiles knew that Peter wasn't just fucking with him, that maybe Peter kinda sorta liked him too, but Stiles doesn't know that. Peter could very well be bored and just looking to screw with him. Stiles has no way of knowing. Because Stiles _could_ ask and then what if Peter just laughed in his face? Or maybe Peter just plans on egging him along--

He doesn't get to generate any more possibilities because Peter's other hand reaches over and touches him. _Slowly_. It's not even sexual touching either. It's just Peter's hand travelling from his shoulder, down his chest and then to his uncomfortably full bladder.

Stiles winces because as much as it is uncomfortable for Peter to press against him, it's still _Peter_ touching him and his dick is getting harder and this is just a mess.

"Yeah, I was going to ask you to stop being a douchebag," Stiles answers.

* * *

This is one reason that Peter rather enjoys Stiles compared to the rest of the pack. Stiles has flair. He's not a werewolf and so he can't fight back with strength, but he _does_ have his wit, and every time that Stiles is able to use it, he takes the opportunity. Peter can appreciate that.

He certainly does now. Being able to scent Stiles' arousal is one thing, but the way that Stiles answers him is enough to make Peter laugh. It's quick, barely a breath, but it's there. Stiles _is_ quick; Peter will give him that.

"To be fair, I don't think that's physically possible," he drawls, arching an eyebrow and pressing a little harder for emphasis.

"Seeing as you're having trouble with the concept, you _could_ have asked me to touch you. Your dick, specifically, seeing as that seems to be the issue right now."

* * *

Stiles isn't sure he even wants to know what Peter is getting out of this. Amusement? Entertainment? Okay, yeah, it had been kind of boring to sit around while on watch, but this isn't a typical avenue to take for someone looking for some fun. It's not normal. But then again, this is Peter-stupid-Hale.

Peter laughs at what he says. It's not some evil cackle or villainous guffaw, just a chuckle, but Stiles still glares daggers at the werewolf. He's _really_ hoping that Peter just grows bored because if Peter isn't ya know, pinning him here and touching him and talking to him, Stiles Jr. could calm the fuck down so he could piss and it'd be all fixed.

Stiles' glare falters when Peter speaks, all lazy and self-satisfied as if this is some big accomplishment (it's not). Peter's hand presses a little harder on his abdomen and Stiles winces. He's still gotta pee and he's still aroused and this is certifiably a mess and hearing and then thinking that Peter might touch him is... _ugh_.

"Fine, Peter. Will. You. Touch. My. Dick?" Stiles pointedly enunciates.

* * *

Peter is taking a risk here, obviously, but he also knows that he hasn't been imagining the last few months. Stiles isn't particularly subtle with his lingering glances, and while Derek is oblivious to the arousal that Stiles seems to have around him, Peter hasn't missed it. He definitely hasn't missed the times that Stiles has flirted with him, or how his arousal spikes higher whenever Peter smirks at him a certain way.

Really, this has just been a long time coming.

Or so Peter hopes. He's fairly certain that he's read this right, and he thinks he's playing his hand well. After all, if there's one way to make Stiles agree to something, it's to annoy him into it.

And it works _beautifully_. Stiles grits out his question, and it sounds a little like he's attempting to curse through the words, but Peter takes them at face-value because this is still an enjoyable experience for him. His smirk widens in satisfaction, and - just like that - he slides his other hand down and presses it firmly to the outline of Stiles' dick in his jeans. There's no fanfare, no warning. Peter just touches him.

"There. Was that so hard?" He says, voice dripping a smug sarcasm as he glances down, blue eyes glinting as he eyes the rising outline in Stiles' jeans.

* * *

Stiles wants to believe that he'd have better luck than this, but apparently nope. He's gotta play this stupid fucked up game with Peter. And okay, maybe if he didn't have to take a huge piss, Stiles would be feeling gung-ho about this development. It is Peter showing some fucked up interest in him or his dick. That's a plus.

But given the situation Stiles is in, it's shitty. It makes Stiles wonder if Peter's only doing this to be a bitch to him. Would this even have happened if not for Stiles' pressing problem? That question goes unanswered because Peter's hand slides down and over the bulge in his jeans and Stiles' hips jerk as he tries to hold back a pleasured-startled sound.

Stiles may want Peter to do some sexual things to him or with him, but it's not supposed to go down like this. The uncomfortable urge to piss is still present, it's just now twisting around with arousal and the desire for Peter to get him off ASAP.

"Yeah, hard like my dick," Stiles mutinously shoots back and his hands drop down to Peter's and Stiles tries to get Peter to start moving his hand over his pants. "Lets go, c'mon, start rubbing. Chop, chop."

* * *

Really, Stiles is doing this to himself. He has to know better. Peter refuses to believe that Stiles isn't fully aware of what he's doing. Just looking down at the hard line of Stiles' cock through his jeans is enough to make Peter want to push a little further, to see how much he can take, to see how much Stiles will let him get away with. And then Stiles has to go and touch, has to go and try to urge Peter's hand into moving, and really. He should know better.

It's in Peter's nature to be reticent. Having someone push him along all but guarantees that he'll dig in his heels, and it is no different in this case. Peter looks back up with a glint of a smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, perhaps to outline how ridiculous a move that had been, he presses his hand a little harder against the front of Stiles' jeans but doesn't move it.

"You asked me to _touch_ your dick," Peter says, each word pointedly enunciated as he meets Stiles' eyes. "You didn't say anything about rubbing. I don't know if I'm particularly endeared by your attitude," he muses, sounding thoughtful despite the mischief clear in his eyes. Peter clicks his tongue against his teeth and then slides his hand up slightly, just barely enough to take Stiles' zipper between his thumb and forefinger and drag it down, slowly.

"A show of manners _would_ be preferable."

* * *

 _Semantics_. Peter is literally arguing semantics with him, but of course Peter would be doing that because Peter lives to be a dick. Which usually didn't bother Stiles that much, but now it does, because Stiles wants _his_ dick touched. Seeing how Peter's eyes practically light up in amusement, he's not expecting this to go easy. And it's definitely not painless either because yes, he's turned on but he also needs to piss.

Stiles is aware that, under different circumstances, he'd be a huge fan of this situation. Peter pinning him against something and teasing him? It's hot. There's no doubt about it, it's just that Stiles isn't sure of the _why_ behind the move now. He's giving Peter ammunition. Given the predicament that Stiles is in, he's not sure Peter isn't just riling him up to embarrass him later.

Still, that risk doesn't deter Stiles. It should - it should fucking kill his boner right here and now - but Stiles' pulse is still quick and his cock is aching and Peter's fingers are dragging down the zipper which is a good sign... but a ' _show of manners_ '? Really?

"Seriously?" Stiles says, clearly exasperated. "C'mon, Peter, _please--_ " It actually slips out. He hadn't meant to say please. Goddammit. Stiles' jaw clenches and he lifts his chin up, trying to act like it's no big deal and he hadn't actually done what Peter requested of him.

* * *

Oh, this could backfire spectacularly if Peter isn't careful, but there comes a time when 'careful' isn't quite as thrilling as taking a risk. That's what he's doing now. He's taking a risk. He's taking a risk that Stiles isn't going to call out for Scott or Derek, that Stiles is going to eventually give in to Peter's unsubtle suggestions, and that this is going to go as swimmingly as Peter knows that it has the capacity to.

It also has the capacity to crash and burn, but he's going to focus on the positives.

Positive number one: how irritated and desperate Stiles looks. The flush to his cheeks is very becoming. Positive number two: how hard and hot Stiles' dick already feels through his jeans. And, positive number three: Stiles isn't telling him to stop. Hell, in the height of his irritation, Stiles' guard drops enough for him to actually say _please_ , and Peter's eyes glint brighter in victory even as Stiles' expression tightens in embarrassment.

"Now, _that's_ a little more like it. Manners will get you everywhere," he drawls, and - making a point to meet Stiles' eyes - Peter drags Stiles' zipper all the way down and then slides his hand into the front of Stiles' jeans. Without fanfare, Peter's hand molds to the shape of Stiles' dick in his boxers and he drags his palm over it - up and down. It's casual and slow, but there's intent in the touch.

"There, now. Isn't that better?"

* * *

Oh. Stiles is definitely not going to call out for Scott or Derek. He's not calling out for _anyone_. He's not some helpless waif, okay. He's not some princess in need of being saved. Technically Peter is bullying him and holding him against his will or whatever, but Stiles _does_ have an erection and he can't actually remember if he really - seriously - told Peter to stop. Had he?

Seeing Peter's absolute look of victory is... aggravating. Stiles wants to slap it off Peter's face, but he's not even sure if he could get a slap in without Peter stopping him. And maybe just _thinking_ about slapping Peter is enough. It'd be amusing - at first - to see Peter all shocked and incredulous because _how dare Stiles do such a thing!_ but then who knows what Peter would do. It's not worth it.

Besides, Peter does what Stiles wants. His zipper is slowly dragged down, his fly opening and then Peter's hand is working its way inside and pressing against him. Stiles trembles, his hips instinctively lifting and wanting to seek out the touch before Stiles can try and rein himself back in. He definitely doesn't want to come across as quite so eager.

Peter doesn't _go_ for it, however. And that's really the problem.

"It'd be better if you just got me off so I can take a piss," Stiles replies petulantly. He then sniffs before adding on. "Please?"

* * *

Stiles looks slightly aggravated by Peter's inward delight, but that's all the more reason to show it. If Peter is taking a risk, he isn't going to be the only one aware of it. Stiles is desperate enough to make him slightly snippish, and it's actually a rather enticing trait. Peter has always enjoyed Stiles' wit, almost as much as his tact, or lack thereof. Stiles is the only one who has never acted as though talking with Peter was the equivalent of walking on thin ice. Or, perhaps more accurately, on broken glass.

He's not afraid to share his displeasure now, either, and Peter is charmed despite himself. He can feel how hard Stiles is - much more than he'd initially anticipated, which is flattering on its own - and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't tempted to string Stiles along and make him beg. Desperation is such an appealing state of being.

Except, instead of lingering in desperation, Stiles goes for a distinct lack of tact once more. Peter chuckles despite himself, and while he considers drawing it out to force Stiles to be a little more agreeable, he's satisfied with what Stiles has said.

"Later, I think I'll explain that tacking on 'please' at the end of a sentence doesn't constitute manners. But it'll do for now."

And, to prove that point, Peter steps in closer, pressing his palm to the outline of Stiles' dick and he begins to rub. He's careful not to pin Stiles to the tree too hard, because as much as he's enjoying this, he doesn't want the desperation to become too painful for him to come. Instead, he leans in, close enough to almost press their foreheads together.

"Out of curiosity, what was it that got you to this point? I knew you were aroused, but I hadn't known you were _this_ aroused. Care to share with the class?"

* * *

It's easy enough for Stiles to try and delude himself into thinking that he's just going along with this - playing Peter's game - in order to get whatever _this is_ done and over with, so he can relieve himself. It's undoubtedly a stupid, embarrassing situation to be in in the first place. And yeah, maybe if he'd just gotten out of the car and immediately told Peter it was to relieve himself, nothing would have happened, but Stiles is currently not in possession of a time machine and this is where he finds himself:

In the preserve, pinned against a tree by one of Peter's hands, his fly undone, and Peter's palm against his cock with only his boxers between them. Stiles can feel the warmth of Peter's skin against him, seeping into his cock that's already hard and hot, and it makes Stiles wonder just how good it would be to have Peter's hand _directly_ on him.

Which he doesn't ask for, of course.

Peter and his prissy request of manners has Stiles rolling his eyes, but before he can give any sort of disgruntled response, Peter steps closer and his hand starts to move, just carefully rubbing against him and pulling a strangled sound out of Stiles before he shuts his mouth.

Peter's face is close too - are they going to kiss? Stiles' lips part--

Apparently nope. Instead, Peter asks _why_ he's at this point, how he got this turned on.

"I'll only share with 'the class' if you promise to not tell anyone about this," Stiles suddenly blurts, and he's proud of himself for trying to wrangle this out of Peter. If he has to embarrass himself, he's damn well making sure Peter isn't passing along the story.

* * *

Stiles is much more aroused than Peter had expected him to be, especially considering how badly he must need to urinate. Oh, it's perfectly possible to be as aroused as Stiles is, get off, and still manage to relieve himself later, but sometimes the desperation can interfere with how easy it is to get hard. Stiles might be a teenager, but Peter hadn't quite expected this.

He's surprised. Pleasantly so. Hell, he'd go as far as to say that he's impressed. Watching the flicker of clipped emotion behind Stiles' eyes, Peter looks him over slowly, lasciviously. He doesn't miss the way that Stiles' lips part when he leans in close, and he definitely doesn't miss that lick of mortification when Stiles realizes that Peter _hadn't_ been leaning in to kiss him, but he does file it away.

Peter's not against kissing Stiles. Hell, he's interested in it. Stiles isn't the only one interested in the proceedings, and Peter's own jeans are feeling a little snug, but seeing the way that Stiles immediately struggles to change the topic is far more interesting than anything else.

Well. Than almost anything else. The way that Stiles' dick throbs against Peter's palm is _quite_ interesting.

"Tell anyone," Peter repeats when Stiles blurts out his condition. He blinks, one eyebrow arching as he leans back a bit.

"Why on _earth_ would I tell anyone? Frankly, I prefer keeping you like this, all to myself. But, if I must," he sighs. "You have my word. No one will find out about this. At least not from me."

* * *

This is the first smart thing Stiles thinks he's done this evening and he really wishes he'd mentioned it _earlier_ , but alas... Peter may be king of the douchebags, but Stiles does think Peter's word matters to him and that Peter will actually stick to it. Peter's too into semantics and being right to not be trustworthy in this one area.

Stiles is adamantly trying to forget that a part of him was maybe - slightly - interested in Peter kissing him. Mostly out of curiosity. He's already here, pinned and getting palmed at, so why not try that too? It makes sense. Maybe Peter would suck at kissing. That'd be funny, but somehow Stiles doesn't think that's very likely. Knowing his luck, Peter's probably some bonafide sex god.

Peter seems somewhat surprised by what Stiles demands and Stiles doesn't know how to take it. Has he been worrying about nothing then? He can't think about it because Peter says shit like _'keeping you like this, all to mysel_ f' and Stiles flushes with heat.

But Peter promises that he won't tell anyone which means... Stiles has to fulfill his end now. He takes a quick breath, deciding to just go for it.

"You pinning me to the stupid tree got me hard, okay? Whatever. You already know that I'm into you - minus your personality - 'cuz your personality's trash."

* * *

Peter is a rather perceptive man, and as such, he doesn't miss the way that Stiles' cheeks flush and his pulse skips agreeably when Peter talks about keeping Stiles 'all to himself'. It's an interesting insight, one that has interest flickering in Peter's ice-blue eyes, but he keeps that little tidbit to himself. Now that they've gone this far, there's really no going back, so it makes sense to start making little mental notes.

Well… to start making _more_ little mental notes, anyway, because Peter has amassed quite a collection over the years.

No matter. He watches Stiles pointedly, waiting for him to keep up his end of the bargain, and Stiles doesn't disappoint. Stiles immediately rushes into it, claiming that Peter pinning him had gotten him hard, and that Stiles is into him. But it's that little addition at the end - the extra twist of pure, unfiltered brat that has Peter drawing back to send Stiles an incredulous, affronted look.

"Well, aren't we feeling courageous tonight," Peter drawls back, dry as a bone. "I suppose it hasn't crossed your mind that if it weren't for my _trash personality_ , I wouldn't have followed you out of my car and pinned you in the first place. And, correct me if I'm wrong," Peter says, knowing he's not. "But if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you're not really complaining that much."

And, if only to prove a point, Peter curls his fingers around Stiles' dick through the loose fabric of his boxers and immediately gives a few quick, firm, ruthless strokes to the very head of his cock.

* * *

Considering Stiles has just made a smart decision about making Peter swear to keep this on the down low, it stands to reason that now he needs to shove his foot in his mouth after and say what he says. Really, Stiles is just in an impossible situation. He still has to piss, his bladder is still full and uncomfortable, his cock is still hard and despite everything he's not telling Peter to leave him alone.

Also, Peter and he have never gone this far before. So, there you have it, that's why Stiles calls Peter's personality trash. Obviously insulting the guy who's doing the pinning and the rubbing isn't likely a great idea, but Peter's so insufferable! Who the hell just asks 'hey, what's got you so turned on?' That doesn't matter, not amidst nature and when he's gotta pee! They could talk about shit after.

The look on Peter's face is almost amusing. Under different circumstances, Stiles probably would have laughed, but he's aware that he might have pushed it too far with the garbage association. Stiles' hands fall to his sides, fidgeting as he forms them into fists. He's pretty sure it's impulsive and not courageous, but Stiles doesn't correct Peter, because Peter keeps going on (of course he does).

But Peter is right, unfortunately. Peter wouldn't have followed him if he wasn't trash. Stiles is opening his mouth to insist that he _has_ been complaining and he just wants to get this done, but what comes out is a strangled moan at Peter's insistent touch to the tip of his cock. He feels himself leak and Stiles tenses because for a second he thinks it might be piss instead of pre-come.

Stiles clears his throat, staunchly turning away and trying to focus distantly on trees. Maybe if he just stays quiet Peter will get on with it? It's worth a shot.

* * *

Peter isn't pleased, which should come as no great surprise to Stiles. Oh, his pride is well and fully inflated, but that doesn't mean that he appreciates those little comments either. He can handle them. Hell, he can take them just fine, but it doesn't mean that he's at all endeared by Stiles' little outburst.

Stiles, perhaps in the smartest move of the evening, _doesn't_ actually shove his foot further in his mouth. He looks like he's considering it, but before he can say anything, Peter's quick, pointed strokes to his cock have Stiles letting out a delicious, strangled moan that quells some of Peter's irritation.

And then he feels the slight dampness against his hand, soaking through Stiles' boxers, and Peter smirks, albeit dryly. Stiles immediately goes to turn his head, but Peter makes a quick decision.

Stepping in closer, Peter forces a knee between Stiles' legs and removes his hand from Stiles' chest. He makes a point to still pin him in place, but Peter reaches up and instantly grips Stiles' chin, his claws pricking at his jaw, and Peter forces Stiles to look at him again, his eyes still glinting bright blue.

"Oh, no, no, no, I don't think so," Peter tuts. "I want you to look at me, because I'm going to make you come. You're going to make a mess of yourself, and you're going to watch me while you do it. Are we clear? Because I can draw this out for as _long_ as I need to."

* * *

Stiles thinks it could be a good idea. If he's quiet and looking away he can't embarrass himself or irritate Peter, right? Maybe. It's something he hasn't tried yet. Oh, Stiles very much wants to irritate Peter and the guy deserves it, but Peter's the one in control of this situation. Stiles needs to get off before he can take care of his other problem.

Because it's what Stiles wants, Peter, naturally, doesn't let him. Stiles finds Peter wedging a knee in between his legs. Even with the hand no longer on his chest, Stiles is still pinned by Peter's body and maybe his presence too? Stiles doesn't get to think about that because Peter is turning his head with his claws. Stiles' eyes are wide, cheeks burning, and Peter's eyes are bright and blue, gazing intently at him.

The threat of those claws is uncomfortably hot and Stiles really wishes that wasn't the case because he doesn't need to be anymore turned on. He needs this to be over--

He also doesn't need Peter threatening to draw this out. Stiles' mouth is a flat line as he tries to get any wits about him, which is pretty much impossible in the face of Peter's words.

Peter's gonna make him come, make him make a mess, make him watch Peter the whole time.

Stiles takes in a shaky breath.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Stiles reluctantly agrees. He's like a butterfly pinned and Peter's the sadistic fuck watching and controlling everything. Without thinking, Stiles' hands lift to grasp onto Peter's jacket, looking for some sort of anchor to hold onto.

"I need'ta come," he adds on weakly, his hips pushing forward.

* * *

Peter's taking this a step further. Oh, it's beyond reckless, but he thinks that he and Stiles had passed the point of tentativeness a long time ago. Pinning Stiles to the tree and touching him through his jeans had blown any plausible deniability out of the water. It makes sense to stop pretending and to just go for it.

Besides, given how desperate and embarrassed Stiles looks, there's a real chance that this could lead into something. Having Stiles snark and quip while warming Peter's sheets isn't necessarily a bad mental image. Food for thought…

Especially when he looks so aroused, and so lost. The humiliation is likely the only thing keeping Stiles' wits about him, but Peter's still glad to see that spark of defiance. It means that when Stiles does agree - not looking happy about it - Peter's smirk deepens. And, when Stiles reaches out and grabs at Peter's leather jacket and agrees, Peter feels an answering rush of heat low.

Oh, he could get used to this.

"I know you do, and since I'm feeling so generous, I'm going to let you," Peter says.

He doesn't move his hand away from Stiles' jaw, though he does mind his claws. Making a point to catch and hold Stiles' gaze, Peter slides his other hand back down and sets it over Stiles' dick. He lets Stiles buck against his hand, and then - without fanfare - he begins to rub pointedly. There's no hesitation as Peter drags his hand along the full length of Stiles' cock.

"If you need to move your hips, by all means. I'm more than happy to have you use my hand."

* * *

At this point, Stiles is going with need here. He doesn't know how long he's been hard for, but he's had to piss for like, forever. Hours, probably, because he'd been holding it in the car beforehand. In order to accomplish that, he's gotta get soft and the quickest way for the tiger to be tamed is to blast off. Peter giving him a helping hand is something Stiles never expected, but shit, it's happening.

Peter's jacket is expensive and Stiles would love nothing more than to jizz all over it - that'd show Peter for being a douchebag. But right now his dick isn't even out and Peter doesn't look like he's going to do anything to change that either. Stiles sure as hell isn't going to _ask_ for it, however. Nope, no way.

Peter's "generosity" manifests in his hand returning to rub along Stiles' trapped erection, but instead of teasing or slacking, he actually goes for it. Stiles' shudders, wincing at the sudden pressure and pleasure and the bizarre mix of needing to whiz battling against needing to come. It's fucking weird. Really weird.

When the invitation is given that he can "use" Peter's hand? Ya damn right Stiles is going to take him up on that. His fingers tighten in the leather of Peter's jacket before grinding against Peter's palm with the sole intention of getting off.

* * *

There's a part of Peter that's quite tempted to reach into Stiles' boxers and wrap a hand around his cock. It would serve a dual purpose. It would push him that much closer to the edge, because a bare hand will always be better than a hand through clothing, and it would let Peter touch Stiles' dick directly. There's a lot that he can ascertain through Stiles' boxers, but being able to feel that silken heat and weigh Stiles' dick in his hand would also be nice.

Though, as Peter feels Stiles' grip on his jacket increase and then feels Stiles start to grind and rut up against his hand, he decides that Stiles doesn't have anything to be ashamed of. His cock is a nice size, and it feels thick enough in his hand. Surprising, really. Peter would have pegged him for a small dick with his attitude, but it's a pleasant surprise.

The small sadistic part of Peter's mind is sorely tempted to reach into Stiles' boxers and grip his dick. He could hold Stiles' orgasm back that way, as well as make him that much more desperate to relieve himself. But Peter suspects that Stiles really would shout for Scott then. It's safer to enjoy this while he has it.

Stiles does go for it admirably, though. He jerks his hips, thrusting up against Peter's palm, and Peter rubs back obligingly, giving Stiles something to grind against. But, as he watches the flickers of agonized pleasure on Stiles' face, the curious little urge that rises inside of him is one that he winds up giving into.

As Stiles rolls his hips, Peter leans in. He doesn't let go of Stiles' chin, but he does nip lightly at the soft skin just under it. And, as Peter sees how loose Stiles' lower lip looks as he pants for breath, he's basically obligated to lean up and bite it before giving it a small, pointed suck.

* * *

There's a really good chance that Stiles is going to regret this later - all of it. Even if Peter keeps it a secret - and Stiles believes he will - the fact remains that Peter and he will still know about everything. Peter could use it against him in some other way or just tease him or allude to things while in public. It's a chance. A risk.

But things have already gone too far. Stiles can't stop it and he doesn't want to stop it. Peter's hand is willing and continues to rub at him. It'd feel better with Peter's hand directly on his cock, but Stiles likes that there's still one barrier in between them.

Having to watch Peter watch him has gotta be the worst part of it all. Peter's eyes are bright and piercing, and Stiles hates how hot it makes him feel to be watched. There's no denying that Stiles is turned on by Peter and his pushiness. It probably should be worrisome instead of arousing, but Stiles can't help it.

He needs to get off, so he continues humping into Peter's hand and breathing hard at the exertion.

What embarrassingly pushes Stiles over the edge is Peter leaning in - but it's still not a kiss, dammit. Instead, Peter's teeth are on his bottom lip and he's biting before sucking.

And then Stiles is crying out as his body decides that yes, this is enough, and Stiles is coming as he tries to kiss at Peter - completely an unconscious response.

* * *

Oh, Peter is well aware that this is going to have repercussions in the future. Stiles will suspect him at every turn, but Peter is willing to shoulder that burden for what this gives him instead. Being able to watch Stiles like this, to scent his desperation, and to see how attractively he crumbles under Peter's direction is like a jolt of adrenaline in Peter's system. It's what Peter suspects that addiction might feel like were such a thing possible for him.

Really, the bite and suck to Stiles' lower lip is nothing but pure indulgence on his part. He sees the opportunity and he takes it gratefully, sucking soft at first and then harder. It's not a kiss in the strictest sense, but it enables Peter to taste each of Stiles' moans and sighs.

It must do something to Stiles, too, because - before Peter can so much as predict it - Stiles' hips begin to jerk almost wildly against his hand. He thrusts, grinding and humping forward (and oh, the dog jokes write themselves…) but before Peter can think of how to respond, Stiles goes rigid against him and - with a truly beautiful cry - Peter feels Stiles' boxers dampen with come.

He rides his orgasm hard. Hard enough that Peter feels a sympathetic twinge low in his own body. But then Stiles leans up, searching, and seeking, and Peter lets go of his lip only to find Stiles' lips pressed to his own.

It's a shock. Stiles kisses him, clumsy and desperate in the way that only orgasm can bring, and Peter considers stepping back. But ultimately, intrigued, he does kiss back, making a point to force Stiles' lips to part by squeezing his jaw just so that he can lick deep into Stiles' mouth, practically fucking it with his tongue. In for a penny...

* * *

Orgasm tears through Stiles, desperation and hard work finally paying off as pleasure and relief shoot through him. Hips still, he's coming hard and then _continuing_ to come because for some reason it's apparently a big load, as if he's been pent up (which he totally isn't).

Stiles is, in fact, totally aware that kissing Peter is not in the least bit necessary. It shouldn't even be an option that he's taking, but whoops, here he is doing just that. His come soaks into his boxers, and that's never especially nice, but it's far, far from his mind.

It only goes further from his mind when Peter actually kisses him back. Given that he's pinned and shaking from effort and pleasure, Stiles does kiss awkwardly. In his defense, his brain is confused between moaning, gasping for breath and devouring Peter's lips - what's a young, healthy bisexual boy to do when they're living out some fantasy they weren't aware of having?

With a pointed press to his jaw, Stiles opens his mouth. And then it's Peter's tongue, wet and insistent, pushing its way inside his mouth like he owns it. A pang of arousal hits Stiles low, his spent cock throbbing as his fingers scramble to hold onto Peter's jacket. Knees weak and head fuzzy, only now does the urge to piss make itself known again.

* * *

Well, well. Stiles had been pent up, now hadn't he?

The thought drifts idly through Peter's mind as he kisses Stiles with a skill Stiles isn't capable of returning. That he tries is almost cute, but considering how hard he's moaning and writhing against the tree, it's no wonder that he can't focus enough to kiss back properly. Not that Peter's complaining.

It doesn't take long for Peter's palm to slick with Stiles' come. It's faint; only so much can seep through the fabric of his boxers at a time. Still, Peter does have the urge to make a bit of a mess. Having Stiles give in is a bit of a rush, and he's never really been the type to accept what he's been given without trying to push the ball a little further. So sue him. He's an opportunist.

At first, Peter thinks it's an idea that he's going to have to hold onto, but then Stiles clutches at his jacket, desperate. Peter feels him shift his hips in a very telling way, and-- oh, no. Can't have that.

Peter breaks the kiss and - in one smooth movement - he switches the position of his hands. His wet, slick hand comes up to cup Stiles' chin, smearing the come on his face and his other hand - minus claws - goes down to Stiles' boxers. Without a word, Peter wraps his hand around Stiles' cock through his boxers and squeezes low, near the base. His eyes glint in amusement.

"Now, was that so hard? Honestly, you made such a fuss. You really should learn to trust more. So… to that effect, why don't you ask - nicely - and I'll let you… do as nature intended?"

* * *

Peter kisses like it's a race and he's coming in first no matter what. Peter also tongue fucks his mouth and Stiles really has no idea how it's managing to be so sexy, but it is, it really is. Peter Hale may possess a trash personality, but he's also hot in a sort of sleazy way - like porn you get off to but totally wouldn't share with a friend.

But right now is hardly the time to be reflecting or even enjoying Peter's mouth over his own. Now that Stiles has come, there's an obvious urgency in dealing with the _other_ problem plaguing him. Not that Stiles knows how that's exactly going to work out. Peter needs to stop kissing him, needs to stop pinning him and then Stiles can attempt to pull himself together while simultaneously putting some space in between them so he can take care of business.

But that's not what happens. Stiles, still recovering from his orgasm, is a blinking confused mess as Peter smoothly switches hands and Stiles' own fucking come is smeared on his face as Peter takes his chin. Unfortunately, that's not even the worst thing. What's worse is Peter squeezing at his softening dick - pinching him pretty much and discomfort flares.

Incredulous, the haze of orgasm quickly fades as Peter's words are processed. "What the--" Stiles sputters, eyes wide. "I'm not asking you for _permission_ to piss!"

Peter can't be serious. There's gotta be _some_ kind of limit.

* * *

This isn't even slightly necessary, but Peter's intrigued by it anyway. Maybe out loud, he'd argue that he's just trying to push Stiles to see how much he can take, but Peter knows the real reason he's doing this.

It's pettiness. The 'trash personality' still rankles, and what better way to disprove a theory than play right into it? If Stiles is so sure, clearly this won't be a surprise to him.

But, 'lo and behold, he seems _quite_ surprised, and incredulous. Peter smirks faintly, both eyebrows lifting in an expression of faux-sympathy as Stiles realizes what he'd said, and immediately protests. Really, this extra idea isn't at all necessary, except where it makes Peter feel vindicated, but isn't that reason enough to push? No one has ever accused him of not being a petty bastard.

"Really?" Peter tuts, giving Stiles' cheek a small, wet pat - just because he can. "You must be _very_ confident in your ability to hold it, then. I'm impressed. Most people would be fairly desperate by now."

* * *

You know it's bad when _jizz_ on your chin and soaked into your boxers in your least concern. That's where Stiles finds himself. Peter's made a mess of him, but Stiles will deal with that later - wipe it off with his hoodie, keep said hoodie in front of his crotch afterward. Thankfully his Dad is working late so he shouldn't be around when Stiles inevitably has to slink back home, doing some version of the walk of shame.

Peter's got stupid eyebrows that do stupid things - like lifting in some " _oh no!_ " expression which Stiles knows is complete bullshit, because obviously Peter knows exactly what he's doing.

Stiles _wants_ to be fuming over this, but he seriously needs to go and the urgency is dominating everything else. It's uncomfortable and pressing, he's tensing and there's even a little pain now.

Peter is fucking shameless about this. Relentless even. The problem is, Stiles _isn't_ very confident in his ability to hold it because he already _has_ been holding it - for far too long anyway. His hands try to push Peter away, but, as usual, he's proven to be ineffectual.

" _Oh my God_ , stop being some deviant and let me go. I gotta piss!" Stiles blurts back hotly.

* * *

There's something immensely satisfying about having Stiles shove ineffectually at Peter's chest. Peter takes it. Stiles isn't nearly as strong as he is, and the attempts are cute at best, but they do speak to how stubborn and reticent Stiles can be. Two things that Peter genuinely enjoys about him. Had it not been for that little comment about his personality, Stiles' staunch refusal might have even been enough to get Peter to relent.

But Stiles had made that disappointing little comment, and Peter is nothing if not an opportunist. Why bother relenting immediately when he could just as easily use this as a learning experience?

"Deviant, am I?" Peter asks, sounding mildly amused as Stiles fights back against him and tenses, clearly uncomfortable. Oh, he's very aware that this could end in Stiles shouting for help and Peter at the wrong end of a different set of claws, but he somehow doubts that Stiles would do that.

After all. All Stiles needs to do is shout for help. He hasn't yet, despite a number of opportunities. Peter happens to find that.. intriguing. And telling.

"I suppose I can accept that. But what does that make you? All _you_ need to do is ask nicely and I'll let you go," Peter reminds him, giving Stiles' dick another small squeeze.

"I'm beginning to suspect you might _like_ this, Stiles."

* * *

Peter _is_ being some kind of freaky deviant. There's really no other way to look at things. Peter is the one who's complicated everything. _Peter's_ totally at fault and responsible. All Stiles wanted was to leave and take a whiz but noooo, Peter couldn't let that happen, could he? Stiles _would_ have been able to take care of the initial problem if Peter hadn't pinned him against a tree. Maybe it's the tree's fault too.

Despite Stiles' accusation, Peter doesn't look bothered in the least. He just repeats the word like they're having a casual conversation, but c'mon, this is anything but. Peter's fingers are holding tightly at the base of his dick, and like this, Stiles won't be able to piss, and he can't get away. God dammit.

Not that he wants to piss on himself, but he's gotta go, and in order to do that, Peter needs to let go of him in more ways than one.

Leave it to Peter to just accept that he's a deviant. But when he implies that Stiles likes this and that's why he's not listening? That's just too much.

"I shouldn't _have_ to ask nicely!" Stiles exclaims, pulse rapid as he glares at Peter. It's difficult to reconcile that a minute ago Peter had been kissing and tongue fucking his mouth but now this? Now Peter isn't letting him piss?

A grimace flashes over Stiles' face. He's really running out of time and it doesn't seem like Peter's going to let up. Does he really have to do this?

After a distressed sound Stiles rushes, "Okay, fine! Can I piss? Will you let me?"

* * *

One simple word. One little 'please' and Peter would be more than happy to let Stiles go. He's more curious to see how much Stiles can take, and if he does have a breaking point than he is just in drawing this out and making him squirm. Though, admittedly, that _is_ also a factor, too. Given how prideful and stubborn Stiles is, Peter can't help but want to break him down and see him beg.

Stiles' response is desperate in a different way. He refuses initially, his pulse quickening and skipping with humiliation and desperation. He tells Peter that he shouldn't have to ask, but considering Peter is telling him that he has to, that's a moot point. It's not like Stiles is the one calling the shots right now.

Still, through it all, Peter does listen to Stiles' vitals and scent the air, making sure that he's not being thrown too far into uncharted waters. Stiles is getting off on this, but the moment that stops happening, it stops being fun. So, it's in Peter's best interest to monitor him.

Thankfully it doesn't take long for Stiles to break, and it's quite sweet to boot. It's not a 'please' - and for a second, Peter considers being a stickler - but Stiles asks him, and then follows it up with an acknowledgement that it's only happening because Peter is letting him. It's enough to make Peter's dick ache in his pants, and enough to get into his good books.

With a small, pleased smile, Peter hums his assent and then finally takes his hand away. But he doesn't remove the other one. Instead, with a low, growled, " _much_ better," he leans in and - apropos of nothing - presses Stiles back against the tree and kisses him again.

* * *

Technically, using 'can' is correct because Stiles is currently unable to piss if Peter's fingers are pinching him off. And he's got to ask if Peter will _let him_ because Peter's decided to take control over this particular activity and it's now dependent on Peter allowing him.

It's embarrassing and ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous - Peter is being so stupidly ridiculous about everything. Can Stiles use the word ridiculous any more? Probably.

It doesn't even pop into his mind to call for help. Stiles can't imagine screaming for Scott or Derek and being found _like this_ and having to explain it. Maybe Peter pushed for shit and was _ridiculous_ , but it's not as if Stiles didn't want it.

Stiles got hard first and Peter just decided to take advantage of his hormonally addled body. Stiles doesn't even know if Peter's actually into him, or if this is just fun because Stiles _is_ attracted to the beta and that comes with a certain power trip attached to it - especially if you're trash like Peter is.

Stiles doesn't use the word please. Peter had required it earlier. Peter wouldn't rub and get him off until Stiles said it, but this time Stiles, thankfully, doesn't need to say please. Peter smiles and the resulting butterflies ricocheting in his stomach has gotta be because relief is on the horizon, not because Peter seems pleased (by him).

Stiles audibly sighs when Peter's hand leaves his soft and messy cock. Stiles is gearing up to step away and take a few steps to the left before turning around to piss when Peter decides to complicate that.

Instead, Peter's mouth is back on his own, and Stiles is kissed but ultimately still stuck. He immediately understands this new angle because why would Peter let him have privacy or the convenience of _not_ wetting himself?

Stiles' cheeks heat, and he doesn't want to kiss back, but the horny teenager inside of him says _go, go, go_ and Stiles' lips listen. The need to piss only grows, desperation gripping at Stiles and making him feel breathless in a completely different way. His entire body tenses, trying to hold it in because maybe if he just waits Peter might--

Stiles can't even finish the thought. It's been too long. He can't do it. He's going to fucking piss himself and _Peter_ is making him.

It's with an anguished sort of cry that Stiles starts peeing, warmth soaking into his boxers along with his come. But the fucking relief that comes with finally being able to piss? It makes Stiles shudder, makes him moan into the kiss as he empties himself, urine steadily seeping into his jeans.

* * *

Oh, this is taking it more than just a few steps too far. Peter could wind up with claws at his throat, or worse, if this ever gets out. He's not even sure if he could say exactly why the urge had hit him to do this. Opportunity had just presented itself, Stiles had fought back, his attraction to Peter had been obvious, and, well. Apparently this is the result.

Arguably it's a fun one-and-done kind of thing. After this, they could easily go their separate ways. Stiles could keep sniping at him passive-aggressively during pack meetings and Peter could keep on flirting and being scathingly sarcastic just to rile Stiles up. It's what they've been doing for the better part of a few years now, and it's fun.

But even as Peter's lips find Stiles' and Stiles goes rigid with sudden comprehension against him, Peter wonders what else he might be able to wring out of Stiles over time.

Because if Peter knows one thing, it's this: Stiles _likes_ this.

His cheeks might heat when Peter kisses him, and he might be humiliated and understand what the kiss means, but Stiles still kisses _back_.

Peter isn't particularly into the idea of piss, but he is into the idea of emotional extremes. And that split second when Stiles tenses and makes a soft, desperate, broken sound in the back of his throat? Were he touching himself, Peter thinks he could have come from that alone. And, as Stiles suddenly cries out into the kiss with a truly hot, obscene moan of pure relief, Peter keeps kissing him.

He angles his body back, because he doesn't want Stiles to piss on _him_ , but the way that Stiles writhes almost sexually and moans hotly into the kiss is perfection.

Peter licks deep into Stiles' mouth with a soft groan, breaking away only to murmur, " _there_ now. Doesn't that feel better?"

And then he's kissing him deeply again, lazily fucking his tongue into Stiles' mouth as Stiles soaks his jeans.

* * *

Little kids wet themselves, not teenagers and definitely not adults. Distantly Stiles is aware of some of the more taboo kinks out there and he's unfortunately aware that piss can be one of them, but it's usually like, gross stuff involving drinking it or taking a wee on someone else and he's never had the inclination to educate himself further than knowing what a so-called 'golden shower' was.

Going to the bathroom is biological and sometimes it does feel good, everyone's had a satisfying trip to the loo one time or another. It's just physical - excreting wastes from your body - nothing more, nothing less. At least, that's how it'd been for Stiles up until this point.

It's gotta be the amount of time he's had to go, all the waiting, the build-up and anticipation coupled with Peter that it actually feels good in any sort of positive notable way. Stiles isn't some freak. He's the one wetting himself, boxers and jeans steadily growing uncomfortable and it's not as if Stiles _likes_ it, but the fucking staggering amount of relief has him feeling dizzy.

Later, Stiles will wish he'd figured out a way to piss on Peter - the bastard.

Peter's question doesn't get an answer - not that Stiles wants to answer it. It's obvious that he feels better because it's _supposed_ to feel better. Stiles continues to piss, emptying his bladder but filling himself up with confusion and humiliation instead, because somehow... Somehow Stiles isn't as traumatized as he should be.

When his cock only dribbles weakly, Stiles shivers and pants as he ducks his head down to break off the kiss and try and ... try and what? He's got no fucking clue.

==

Kissing serves two purposes. First, Peter gets to keep Stiles in place, gets to give him something else to focus on so that he's much more willing to just let the end result happen. Second, Peter enjoys it. Getting to feel Stiles squirm and feel each moan vibrate against his lips, scenting the - admittedly unpleasant - musk of urine, but also that faint undercurrent of surprising arousal?

Oh, he's definitely enjoying it all. Stiles' humiliation looks so sweet on him, his cheeks burning with embarrassment but his hips still giving aborted little twitches.

He's the perfect picture of debauchery. If nothing else, Peter will always have that to reflect fondly on.

When Stiles finally finishes, he ducks his head, breaking the kiss. Peter leans back just enough to look down at him, at the ruddy embarrassment in his cheeks and the lax, flushed pink of his lips. Yet as Peter admires his handiwork, he is _very_ aware that despite the humiliation, Stiles doesn't smell overly distressed. In fact, much to Peter's intrigue, he smells more aroused than he had before. Interesting.

"Well, now. You _did_ manage to make a mess of yourself, didn't you?" Peter asks, finally taking enough of a step back to drink in the debauched picture that Stiles makes.

His jeans are tellingly damp and clearly uncomfortable, and there is a very real part of Peter that is tempted to hold to his earlier promise and just leave Stiles to sort himself out. But, in the end, he decides that there is a limit if he wants to keep breathing.

"You're lucky I have a change of clothes in my car, which I expect you to wear. I won't have you getting in all sodden like that. I'm reasonably sure I have a plastic bag for what you're wearing now."

Peter takes one last second to drink in the picture that Stiles makes, and then he smirks as he turns away and starts off back towards his car.

"And you have my thanks. That was _very_ enlightening."


	2. Pinned in a stairwell

* * *

* * *

Pointedly, Stiles doesn't let himself think about the incident. He doesn't think about Peter pushing him against a tree and pinning him there, Peter's claws on him and a hand traveling down his body... He definitely doesn't fantasize about Peter undoing the button on his jeans, the zipper being slowly slid down and how Peter's big hand just cupped his cock and confidently rubbed like it was the most normal thing to do. Stiles doesn't fixate on how he gave in, hips pushing forward as he desperately rut into Peter's hand until he got off.

Peter also kissed him breathless but then didn't let him go afterward, and Stiles ended up pissing himself. Not his finest hour, and not something Stiles ever wants to get out. He can't imagine _anyone_ knowing. No way. Not Scott. Not his Dad. Not Malia or Derek or Lydia. Stiles isn't even sure what _he_ thinks about all of it. It's of course embarrassing because why wouldn't it be? 

The problem is, that's not _all_ it was. 

It's a complicated memory and Stiles may _consciously_ try to not think about it, but it still pops up. Usually when he's drifting off to sleep or waking up from certain X-rated dreams. Okay, sometimes during the day too, but not too often - not an abnormal amount. And it obviously makes sense that when he sees Peter, he remembers it. 

Stiles really tries to pretend like nothing's different, like he didn't actually admit to Peter, king douchebag, that he got hard because of him and maybe got off on a few things he didn't know he was into. 

It's whatever. It honestly doesn't matter. Peter keeps his word because no one brings anything up or looks at Stiles differently. Three weeks pass and Stiles only sees Peter twice. Stiles debates the merits of trying to subtly mention to Scott that he'd rather not be pushed in Peter's direction, but he's not some fragile thing. He's not a victim... And he's kinda curious if anything else will happen.

Something happens, but it's not when and where Stiles would expect anything to happen. After leaving Derek's, he's racing down the stairs, but upon reaching the bottom, there's Peter lurking like a creeper and blocking the exit. Stiles lurches to a stop, gaping, fingers squeezing the hand rail.

"Hey." 

It's not his brightest comment, but Stiles doesn't know what else to say.

* * *

In truth, Peter does expect some fallout. Yes, he'd been the perfect gentleman when he'd got Stiles back to his car, offering him wipes (with thinly-veiled amusement) to half-clean himself off with before offering him a change of clothes. 

Peter still hasn't gotten those clothes _back_ , but he's not concerned. They'd been spare clothing - nothing more than a set of sweatpants and a t-shirt - but the fact that Stiles still hasn't returned them is telling.

For the first week, Peter does expect someone to show up at his door, claws and fangs bared. He expects a hand around his throat, expects snarled threats or more. Except that doesn't happen. The second week, Peter is more optimistic, but _also_ more curious as to whether or not he'd gotten away with the whole thing. 

By the third week, he's bored. 

Yes, he's seen Stiles twice - both times at pack meetings - and Stiles had done an admirable job of avoiding his eye and never so much as looking in his direction. He hadn't done a fantastic job in covering his scent (though he _had_ been smart enough to wear enough deodorant to throw the others off) but Peter had still inwardly applauded the effort. Still, seeing Stiles twice like _that_ hadn't been a satisfying ordeal, and Peter's never been one to sit on his impulses for too long. 

Too much repression leads right to wrinkles. He might be a werewolf, but he's not going to risk that.

So, Peter waits, and as it so happens, opportunity falls right on his lap once again. 

Peter's just leaving Derek's place when he hears Stiles' Jeep outside. He'd only needed to assist his nephew in something minor, and he certainly hadn't expected that to lead him to _Stiles_ , but Peter does make a point to duck into the shadows and watch as Stiles races inside and then heads up the stairs without stopping to look. 

Peter doubts that Stiles will be there long. So, he takes a chance. And, curious, he waits.

Stiles doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, and Peter hears him _long_ before he sees him. It gives him time to walk over and stand in front of the door, which in turn gives him a _very_ satisfying view as Stiles sees him and immediately lurches to a stop on the stairs, so suddenly that Peter's surprised that he doesn't fall.

The look on his face is _hilarious_ , but also telling. While stunned, Stiles doesn't look like he's horrified. He looks... expectant. Interesting.

" _Hey_ ," Peter greets back, amused. "I have to admit, I _did_ wonder what you'd do if you had to look at me directly again. Though, I suppose I didn't anticipate 'gaping like a fish'. That's really quite flattering."

* * *

Apparently the best Stiles can manage is a 'hey' and that's really rather unfortunate. It's the first time he's been alone-alone with Peter since their... night out. He's starting to think that the word _incident_ is too serious, but what other word could Stiles use? Thinking about what happened usually has Stiles' mind spinning off in so many different directions that nothing gets solved.

Stiles can feel how dumb and shocked he looks. Feasibly, this was always an option - running into Peter somewhere, and that it's in the vicinity of Derek's loft, isn't much of a surprise. It's just bad timing, a shitty coincidence. 

... Or is it? Peter could have possibly tried to arrange this, but Stiles has no proof, and he doesn't want to accuse Peter unless he at least has some rudimentary evidence.

Peter looks... _Good, hot, annoying, amused_ \- take your pick. Stiles' look of shock is swapped with a scowl at Peter mentioning him gaping like a fish and being flattered about it.

Indignantly, Stiles forces himself to continue down the last remaining steps until he's on the ground level.

"It's my, ' _oh look, there's a pervert_!' face," Stiles shoots back. The fact that Peter can say one thing and infuriate him? It's... infuriating.

* * *

It really is flattering to see the way that Stiles looks at him like he's not quite real. There's a flicker of shock and tentative arousal in Stiles' eyes and Peter appreciates the sight of it. He's clearly out of his element and in over his head, and that Peter can have such a wild effect on Stiles is immensely satisfying.

It does leave Peter with a rather large _what now_ focus, but he hadn't had any plans when he'd pinned Stiles to a tree beyond annoying him, so clearly improvisation is one of his strengths. Peter doesn't think he needs to have a plan right now. Not when Stiles looks so shaken at the mere sight of him.

Stiles' immediate look of indignation is enough to make Peter's smirk widen, but it's the purposeful step that Stiles takes to put himself more on Peter's level that really intrigues him. Stiles might be thrown and in over his head, but he's still full of spunk. The personality kind. Arguably, Peter had drained the other kind out of him a few weeks ago...

"Really? That's interesting, actually. _That's_ the look you give yourself every morning in the mirror?" Peter muses thoughtfully, taking a single, pointed step closer. "I'm not judging. Just surprised. After all, I might have _thoroughly_ enjoyed the other night... but so did you."

* * *

Getting bitchy at Peter hadn't really worked out in Stiles' favor last time, but Peter just _invites_ it. His face alone practically shouts, 'hey, I'm an a-hole' and his condescending words coupled with the cockiness? How can Stiles _not_ get pissy at him?

While Stiles hadn't gone through with his little talk with Scott, that doesn't mean he wants some incident here and now. Stiles doesn't know exactly what he wants, but hiding from Peter and behind Scott holds no appeal. It's true that Stiles is a widdle human, but he's resourceful. He can take care of his own problems.

Peter is a problem, as he turns the snide comment around on him. A bigger problem than Peter's words is the beta taking a step closer. Stiles' pulse skips tellingly, his hand still grasped onto the handrail behind him. Peter and increased proximity lead to things. Things that Stiles doesn't want. 

"It's completely _normal_ that an orgasm feels good and that, after being forced to hold it, taking a piss is a relief," Stiles replies hotly. He's definitely not the pervert here. "Between you and me, _you're_ the perverted deviant."

* * *

"Oh, I'm willing to accept that," Peter replies airily, lifting a hand to wave it passively in the air. "Frankly, that's a badge I'd wear with honor. Deviants are far more interesting."

But nothing is quite as interesting as the way that Stiles looks at him. There's a bristling caution in his posture, and Peter admires how tense Stiles looks. He looks like he's half a second between darting away or rushing ahead to punch Peter in order to escape, and that kind of courage is admirable, especially considering how nervous Stiles is.

Peter can hear his pulse, after all. But, while Stiles sounds nervous and in over his head, he _also_ sounds like he doesn't actually mind Peter being here. On the contrary, his pulse and breathing betray him, because that coupled with the faintest little twist in Stiles' scent points a rather obvious finger at the real reason Stiles is so tense.

"Anyway. I'll grant you that an orgasm feels good, and that wetting yourself was a relief--" and before Peter says anything else, just like that, there's no more distance between them. 

He strikes quickly because he can, and because he hasn't forgotten what Stiles had said while pinned against the tree. He forces Stiles up two steps and turns him around, pinning him back against the stair railing in one fluid move. 

" _But,_ I think that getting aroused _because_ someone took away your options and _let_ you relieve yourself might imply a little deviance."

* * *

Stiles has, unfortunately, spent legitimate time... legitimizing his response to Peter during the incidi-- the thing. The thing in the woods. The experience. Situation. His reactions. 

Yeah. 

Anyway, how Stiles responded was totally normal. A hot dude rubs you off? You wiggle and writhe and you come. That's the way things go. And if you need to piss and you hold it, _of course_ it's going to feel good to finally fix the problem.

 _He's_ not a freak. _He's_ not some horrible deviant. But apparently Peter is totally fine with what Stiles has called him - a perverted deviant. Stiles' head jerks back, surprised, how Peter just gracefully _accepts_ the label, waving his hand around like he's some pompous douche. Scratch that, Peter _is_ a pompous douche already. 

But even Stiles can agree with Peter's last statement - deviants are probably more interesting, but Stiles has no idea what to say now or do. 

He _should_ just blow Peter off. Think up some witty rejoinder where he can look unbothered and far too busy to hang out in a stairwell with Peter... but he doesn't. 

Peter starts talking again and with no warning given, the werewolf moves in a flash, and Stiles is forced to half-stumble back up two stairs before being manhandled against the railing. Surprises can be fun, but not _these_ kind - not when Stiles is caught off guard and left reeling. 

The issue is how fucking close _Peter_ is to him now. Stiles is left shaken, which is of course is why Peter has to verbally kick him in the balls and deliver some rebuttal that makes Stiles' body jerk into a stiff board. It's not that he's afraid or even shocked by what Peter said - he wishes he was - but Stiles has sort of put two and two together, but he's not sure he likes the result.

He takes in a calming breath and musters his best smile.

"Yeah, _and_?" Stiles prompts, eyebrows lifting. He's got this.

* * *

Stiles clearly isn't happy at being caught off guard, but Peter isn't concerned with that. He's concerned with what's under the surface. He's concerned with the way that Stiles goes rigid against him and the way that his scent twists in slight distress, but also the way that Stiles centers himself and plasters on a smile that would rival even one of Peter's.

It's purely fake, but the easy manipulation of it is intriguing. It looks like something that Peter would do when faced with a question, which makes him wonder if Stiles has been watching him, or if Stiles is just _naturally_ as manipulative as Peter can be. Either option is interesting.

Stiles' answer - _dripping_ with competence - is enough to draw an answering smirk out onto Peter's lips. He's charmed despite himself, and while he hasn't truly thought this through, it's clear that Stiles has certainly been giving it a lot of thought. He's too easily practiced to _not_ have been thinking this through for a while now, which is intriguing.

" _And_ ," Peter says, suggestion all but dripping in his tone as he walks his hand up to Stiles' chest and splays his palm there, "if we're _both_ deviants, that might imply a little something. Especially considering you still haven't gone to Scott. Admittedly, I _did_ expect that, so when I had no self-righteous alpha knocking my apartment door down within 24 hours, imagine my surprise. _And_ my curiosity." 

Peter pauses just for a beat, and then his claws slide out, tickling Stiles' clavicle. 

"Did you like it, Stiles?"

* * *

Big fucking deal. So what? Stiles is _a little_ perverted, _a little_ deviant. Who _isn't_ these days, right? He's apparently sexually progressive, there's nothing to be ashamed about, especially as Peter's obviously way worse than he is - which seems really important to Stiles. Peter's the one who started it all and he isn't about to forget that. Nope.

There's a level of annoyance at being in this current situation, but it's not because it's Peter pseudo pinning him again, it's because Stiles was caught off guard and he's fully aware that he was all gasp-and-awkward and pretty much embarrassed himself. No one likes being surprised.

The best thing Stiles can do is show Peter that he's totally fine and that's what he does. Him being fine doesn't necessarily stay _fine_ as Peter's fingers walk up his chest and then his hand plants itself there. Stiles is wearing less than he was out in the preserve and Peter's hand is warm and firm. Stiles' heart thumps quicker as Peter talks and mentions that Stiles _hadn't_ gone to Scott about it. Which is true.

Claws slide out and Stiles' eyes dart down before back up at Peter's face when he asks if Stiles _liked it._

"Want me to fawn over you?" Stiles retorts, amused. "Your ego need a stroke?" This angle is allowing Stiles a shred of confidence and he's going to cling to it. 

* * *

Oh, Peter is aware that he's pushing this a little far, but it had worked out for him just fine in the preserve a few weeks ago. He's still breathing, he's still alive, and he knows exactly what Stiles' face looks like when he comes, _and_ when he's embarrassed, and it's a win in his books as far as he's concerned. 

Still, Stiles doesn't back down, and Peter can't help but smirk his pleasure at that knowledge. Frankly, Stiles wouldn't be nearly as much fun without his attitude. Peter _likes_ that it's hard to ruffle his feathers. He likes that Stiles gives back arguably as good as he gets. He's clearly unhappy that Peter had managed to get one over on him here, but Peter can see those gears spinning in his mind. It's very satisfying to watch.

When Stiles does answer him, lazily feigning self-confidence, Peter's smirk only grows wider. He looks positively delighted, because if Stiles is engaging with him, he's still interested. If he wasn't, he would have shut down a long time ago. 

"My ego, and other things," Peter answers, looking Stiles up and down admiringly once. Under his palm, Stiles' heart is beating quick. It's thrilling. "I wasn't going to push it, though. You had other things on your mind at the time. But," he grins, "you don't need to offer me any ego stroking. Considering how fast your heart is pounding and that traitorous little thread of arousal I can smell, your body is doing it for you."

* * *

Stiles is most certainly not going to fawn and praise Peter's sexual prowess. It's not as if Peter was _that_ good even. It's not difficult to handjob someone up nor kiss them with a pushy tongue. Maybe Peter isn't even that skilled... 

Or maybe Stiles is easy - not as nice of a thought. There were also specific circumstances that could have contributed to Stiles' responses, such as him not getting his daily jerking off session in that day. 

Peter shouldn't have asked such a stupid question. _Did he like it?_ Ugh. No. He jizzed in his boxers because he _didn't_ like it. 

Peter's answering smirk might be predictable, but it still unnerves Stiles and irritates him. The irritation is easier to stomach so Stiles obviously tries to focus on that instead. His eyebrows draw in, but Stiles doesn't back down or falter. 

That is-- until Peter's eyes blatantly look him over and heat washes through Stiles at the attention. Does Peter like him? Is he attractive to Peter?

These questions don't get answers because Peter just points out that his pulse and scent give him away which is... It's _true,_ but it's still dickish to point out. Stiles stares incredulously up at Peter, his fingers fidgeting. 

"Oh yeah, what else am I doing for you?" Stiles asks and this time... this time he tries to be a little flirty because maybe he can use this to his advantage. It's worth a shot.

* * *

Peter has the advantage here, but what's really interesting is that Stiles doesn't back down. It's interesting, but it's also fairly admirable. Given the strength disparity between them, as well as the age _and_ species difference, all signs pointing to Stiles indicate that he's not going to come out of this back-and-forth victorious in any way. Peter has all of the advantages, and he's the one most likely to 'win' this little encounter.

Despite this, Stiles doesn't back down, and _that_ is why Peter enjoys this as much as he does. Stiles refuses to back down despite overwhelming odds, and it's thrilling to watch his mind work. Maybe Stiles can never have the full advantage, but watching him struggle to think of something is admirable.

In the end, Peter can't help a small, half-surprised laugh at Stiles' answer. He sounds flirtatious - which Peter hadn't been expecting - and the _wit_ in that answer? Very admirable.

"There's a simple way to find out. Why don't you _check?_ " Peter challenges, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

He's only half-sure that Stiles will do it, but if he _does_ , well. It'll be something to remember. This close to Stiles, recalling that power imbalance a few weeks ago? Peter's interested. Physically, yes, but also intellectually. It's a rush. 

* * *

This could go badly. Like crash and burn bad-bad. It's not as if Stiles hasn't ever been sexually forward before and yeah, maybe it doesn't work out most of the time, but whatever. Peter isn't like most people - not like girls or guys that Stiles has tried to get lucky with--

Not that Stiles is _trying_ to get lucky with Peter. Christ. He can't even imagine having sex with Peter, nor should he be trying to imagine that. But Stiles _is_ getting flirty with Peter, more direct than he has ever been before.

Which is... exhilarating? And maybe it shouldn't be, but he's tired of Peter making him feel hot and tingly in a dumb way. Not that Stiles actually thinks he'll be able to fluster Peter. On that topic, what would even fluster him? 

Stiles doesn't get a chance to even think about that because Peter is challenging him right back - inviting him to _check_. Stiles' eyes widen, a tremor working its way through him at the implication. 

Checking means touching. Touching _Peter_. Down there. Fuck. Before he can overthink it, Stiles' gaze lowers to Peter's crotch and a shaky hand reaches out. His fingers brush against the hardness underneath Peter's jeans and just knowing that it's _Peter's_ dick and that dick is hard _because_ of him? Stiles' own jeans feel tighter. Before he pulls away, Stiles does press his full hand against Peter, just wanting to _really_ feel it at least once. 

After his hand leaves, Stiles' head tilts back up, scrutinizing Peter's response. 

* * *

The sight of Stiles' eyes widening in clear shock is a definite boost to the ego. Even if he doesn't reach out and touch, he'd still thought about it, which means that the idea has been implanted in his mind. Stiles is a smart man. He'll mull over what _could_ have been, and Peter suspects that he'll find Stiles outside of his apartment door one of these days--

But, much to Peter's surprise, Stiles does actually look down between them. Peter stills, watching, and when Stiles reaches out a shaky hand and his fingers just barely brush over the growing outline of Peter's dick, there's a telling flush to his cheeks. His scent flares almost immediately and - though the lighting in the stairwell isn't the best - Peter thinks he can see a growing line of arousal in Stiles' jeans as well.

It's a very pleasant, unexpected surprise. Peter hadn't actually expected Stiles to reach over and _touch_. He'd expected him to make excuses and demand to be let go, which does change things. _Especially_ when - before drawing his hand away - Stiles just up and presses it to the shape of Peter's cock, blatant and obvious, touching like this is the only chance he'll get.

And isn't _that_ interesting.

Stiles looks back up at him warily and Peter considers his options. Then, slowly, he leans in, tilting his head to bring his face in close to Stiles' neck. He audibly breathes in, drinking in Stiles' scent.

"Oh, yes. You _did_ like that, didn't you?" Peter comments lightly. "I wonder if it was because you're just _that_ sexually frustrated, or... did you like knowing that this--" Peter takes a single step forwards, pressing himself against Stiles' hip. "--was _because_ of you?"

* * *

Jesus Christ, Stiles has just touched Peter's cock. He reached out his hand and let his fingers brush over the hardness hidden behind Peter's pants, and then even cupped that erection. Not directly, mind you, but still. And damn, Peter's packing. The worst part is, Stiles doesn't think Peter's even rocking a 100% fully hard hard-on. Information to think about later.

It doesn't escape Stiles that this is the most he's ever thought and considered Peter's dick before. Before the tree-and-pee thing, Peter and Stiles' horniness was more of a vague, abstract concept. He knew he _was_ attracted to Peter, to broad shoulders and a thick neck, to that defined jawline and fit body - maybe not as big as Derek, but certainly buff and Peter's voice? He's got one hell of a sexy voice - or the potential of it - because Peter often also excels at sounding like a douche too. But Stiles never went into details, there were no scenarios playing out in his head.

Stiles should say something. Maybe even some disparaging comment about Peter's cock, ' _that's it?_ ' ... Although it would be a lie, but whatever.

But Stiles feels tongue-tied and then Peter is leaning in and _breathes in_ his scent and that definitely catches his attention because he knows that Peter can smell that he's turned on and apparently he likes that too?

Leave it to Peter to phrase Stiles' "enjoyment" as condescending - is he just _that_ sexually frustrated or is he getting aroused because Peter's dick is hard _because_ of him? Which then is emphasized by Peter's crotch coming to press up against his hip.

Stiles wants to be offended about the first accusation, but Peter this close has him tilting his head back, unconsciously offering Peter his neck because wouldn't that feel nice? Peter's mouth on his skin there? Yeah, he thinks so.

"Does-- does it _matter_?" Stiles forces himself to grit out. 

* * *

Stiles is off-balance. It has nothing to do with the fact that Peter has him bent partly-backward against the stair railing and everything to do with keeping him emotionally and situationally off-balance by sheer presence and conversation. 

Peter has always enjoyed watching Stiles struggle. Through his morals, his decisions, his physical space, and _especially_ when he wants something he keeps denying himself. Watching that flicker of desire and want and frustration is a heady cocktail of interest in Peter's chest.

This is no different. Stiles might protest, might push back or throw up a metaphorical wall between them, but Peter can scent his interest like smoke in the air. He can see it in Stiles' eyes, in the subtle way that his breathing speeds up, and in the way that he can only just catch a faint shadow at the front of Stiles' pants, proving that the proximity is enough to get him harder.

Peter hadn't missed the hunger in Stiles' eyes when he'd set his hand between Peter's legs. Nor had he missed the surprise. Oh, Peter doesn't just _act_ cocky. 

Stubborn to the end, Stiles just up and asks him if it _matters_ , and Peter smirks to himself, glancing at Stiles. There are a lot of ways that he could handle this, but _this_ isn't Stiles desperate in the preserve. This requires a little more subtlety. 

"Not particularly. I'll just assume that both are a factor," Peter says, purposefully lowering his voice a little as he turns his attention to Stiles' neck. Peter brushes his lips over the column of Stiles' throat, warm, letting him feel the scratch of facial hair the second before he parts his lips - and leans back.

"Though... if you want me to _do_ anything, we really must keep _manners_ in mind."

* * *

Stiles doesn't even know if it matters or not. Everything is happening so fast, and he really doesn't have time to simply sit around and think about his responses and their possible consequences. He's just touched Peter's dick - more or less - and this is exciting. He also doesn't need to go to the bathroom, so that's an added bonus. Not that Stiles is completely at ease here, because he's not.

Technically there's a risk Derek could find them. Stiles also has no idea how far Peter's going to go or what's going to happen. Not knowing things in Beacon Hills is usually a detriment, sometimes even dangerous, but what about here and now? It stands to reason that nothing dangerous is likely going to happen here. What's the worst that could happen? Stiles accidentally slipping off a step and twisting his ankle?

It's likely a bit of both that are a factor in Stiles' current interest in this particular situation. Yeah, he isn't quite as lucky with his friends when it comes to getting boyfriends and girlfriends, so it's likely that he _is_ sexually frustrated. And Stiles _is_ also turned on by the fact that Peter's apparently into him - or at least his cock is.

Stiles' own cock gets much more interested when Peter's voice drops lower and his lips move over his throat, eliciting a shiver and involuntary gasp from Stiles. But nothing more comes of it, Peter _doesn't_ kiss him or lick or bite. Peter's mouth goes _away_ and Stiles tenses, not at all liking the mention of _manners_ again. 

"What if-- what if you want me to do something to you?" Stiles counters. The challenge comes out of his mouth with no clue about what he'd even do, but that's not the point. "You gonna use some manners, Peter?"

* * *

Peter can tell that Stiles isn't particularly pleased that he'd pulled back, but that's the point. Peter doesn't _want_ him pleased. Not just yet. Stiles is so much more interesting when he's unsatisfied. So much more unpredictable...

Still, it's entirely too gratifying to hear that telling little gasp that Stiles lets out when he thinks Peter is going to kiss him. Or, perhaps he'd assumed that Peter would lick him, or even bite. Stiles seems like the type who might secretly be interested in being bitten. He'd been interested all those years ago. His pulse had pounded with _want_ , but he'd still wrenched his arm away before Peter could bite him. 

Somehow Peter doubts that he'd do the same now. Right now, primed against the wall, Peter's fairly sure that if he leaned in and closed his teeth around Stiles' throat, Stiles would go boneless against him. It's a very attractive mental image.

It's the quick twist of displeasure that grabs Peter's attention. While he definitely likes outlining what Stiles is secretly into, he _also_ likes to know what gets under Stiles' skin. Apparently mentioning _manners_ is one of those things, which means that Peter files that away for later. Anything to get a reaction, particularly if he can use it for his own purposes.

"If I want you to do something to me?" Peter parrots, his tone edging a little more sly as he flexes his hand against Stiles' chest. It means that his claws brush carefully just at the hollow of Stiles' throat. "Like, if I wanted you to put your hand back where it was? Of course I'd use manners. For example..."

Trailing off, Peter leans in and ducks his head, his lips brushing just under Stiles' jaw. "Stiles. Would you please put your hand back on my cock?"

* * *

The whole manners thing is just _so_ Peter that Stiles, by default, doesn't wanna do any of it. It's not as if Stiles is an uncivilized person - he knows how and when to say please and thanks - but does Peter really deserve a show of manners? Stiles isn't so certain. Actually, he's pretty certain that Peter doesn't deserve shit. Stiles had said please while under duress, so that doesn't count. At least, that's what he wants to believe.

Getting flirty with Peter and playing around like this is both the good kind of exciting and the bad kind. The good kind of exciting is like standing in line for a roller coaster - you're all hyped for the experience, eagerly anticipating the ride, giddy and optimistic for a fun time. Compared to the bad kind of exciting: you're now on the ride and it's climbing up its big ass hill before it's going to own you, and it doesn't matter how much you've watched the roller coaster or thought about it, you're not prepared. You can't know how it will go until you actually ride it.

Peter's the roller coaster and Stiles absolutely has no idea how any of this is going to go down, but he's already strapped in.

And maybe _he_ doesn't want to use manners, but somehow turning it around on Peter? If _Peter_ were to do it? It'd be hot. But would Peter do it? Does Peter want something from him? 

Claws dance along his skin and Stiles' heart stutters. Those claws are dangerous - but the threat is exhilarating and it only pulls Stiles down deeper. Lips brushing under his jaw makes Stiles' breath shudder, and then Peter asks him - really asks and Stiles doesn't hesitate. His hand shoots out and he's cupping Peter's cock before rubbing against it.

* * *

Were this any other situation, Peter might have hesitated before actually giving in to what Stiles wanted him to do. Typically speaking he isn't overly thrilled at the thought of _asking_ for anything, particularly when _taking_ or _manipulating_ are also options. But, watching the way that Stiles' lips part on a small, shuddering breath when Peter's lips trail under his jaw, and listening to that damning stutter of his pulse? Oh, Peter thinks he can make an exception for this. 

Peter's not above using manners to get what he wants, and right now he wants to see if _Stiles_ likes them. He knows that Stiles feels inclined to push back when forced to say what Peter wants him to - which only means that Peter plans on doing that _excessively_ in the future - but given the way that the scent of Stiles' arousal all but skyrockets after Peter says 'please', he files that away, too. 

Before Peter can so much as smirk at Stiles' clear interest, Stiles' hand is back on his cock. It's sudden enough that it actually does briefly catch Peter off guard, but he settles into it soon enough. Stiles' hand touches and cups and rubs blatantly, and that kind of enthusiasm is enough to get Peter's breath hitching pleasantly. He rolls his hips slowly into Stiles' touch, thoroughly pleased that Stiles is so blatant with it.

"Thank you," Peter breathes against Stiles' skin, still milking the _manners_ thing for all it's worth. Because he can. He leans in again, still keeping Stiles pinned as that clever hand rubs along Peter's dick through his jeans. Already he can feel his cock thickening, filling out unashamedly under Stiles' touch, and Peter makes a point to let Stiles feel it as he leans in. He catches Stiles' earlobe between his teeth for a quick nip. 

"There's a good pet. And, for the record... if you'd like me to do the same, all you have to do is say _please_... _Sir_."

* * *

Wowza. Stiles is really doing this. He's really touching Peter through his jeans, and underneath those jeans is Peter's dick, not only that - that dick is hard and getting harder. Peter's hard _because_ of him. Peter's aroused and that lessens some of Stiles' concern. It actually makes Stiles feel really good. Reassured. And even emboldened. Which is maybe why he didn't hesitate, his hand shooting out, all too eager to get to touching.

And shit, Peter said please - _asked him -_ using those manners that Peter so readily threw at him. When Peter _actively_ pushes into his hand, Stiles' own cock hardens and aches at seeing and feeling Peter show interest. Maybe he likes it because he has some power over Peter.

Peter's _thank you_ is breathed against Stiles, causing a delightful shudder. His hand continues to move, palming up and down Peter's cock, taking in how big and hard and warm it feels. Peter leaning in reminds Stiles of his current pinned position, but he finds that he doesn't much mind. He _definitely_ doesn't mind when Peter's teeth bite at his ear lobe, just a fast sharp graze of teeth, but it still makes Stiles gasp. 

Suddenly Peter calls him a _good pet,_ and then the prospect of _him_ getting touched is presented to Stiles, but he has to say please _and_ Sir. What the fuck? Stiles' head gawks back, his hand stopping. 

" _What_? Why would I do _that_?" Saying please is one thing, but the Sir-thing? That's gotta be a joke.

* * *

If there's one thing that Peter enjoys more than any other, it's unsettling Stiles. Oh, having him pinned is a thrill of its own, but watching Stiles suddenly come to terms with what Peter had said? Watching the flicker of confusion that always seems to follow Peter saying something that Stiles hadn't expected him to? That's truly amusing. 

Peter still enjoys Stiles' attention. It's not that he _doesn't_. Stiles' hand is much bolder than Peter had assumed it would be. He's eager, palming Peter's cock, tracing it back and forth, and Stiles' pulse beats out a veritable samba as he really gets a good feel and a quick glimpse of what he wants. 

But Peter can't help but push for more. He can't help but twist the scene _just_ enough to remove Stiles' metaphorical footing, and when Stiles finally registers what he'd said? Oh, _that_ is definitely satisfying.

Stiles jerks back like Peter had burned him, but while his hand stops rubbing, he doesn't actually let go. Peter bites back the urge to ask him if he's found a new security blanket of sorts, because he doesn't actually want Stiles to grip or start yelling, and Peter thinks he knows generally where Stiles' line is.

But, _oh_ , is it tempting to push that. So sue him. Pushing as much as he had in the woods has made Peter a little bolder. 

"Well, because it'd persuade me to get my hand involved in the proceedings too," Peter answers literally, like that had been Stiles' question. A small glint of amusement touches his eyes and he draws back with a smirk. "Plus, I assumed that you'd prefer _Sir_ to ' _Daddy',_ but if I was mistaken, feel free to switch. They're interchangeable."

* * *

Obviously this kind of thing is new for Stiles. Peter, in this capacity, is also new to him. Up until a few weeks ago, Peter was more of an outlier in his life. As the pack and Peter weren't chummy, it made sense that Peter and he didn't run into each other all that often. Just the occasional teaming up when Peter opted to go along or when Scott was insistent. 

Stiles has other memories of Peter, back when he was _only_ dangerous and threatening and definitely the "bad guy." Stiles isn't really sure where Peter fits now. Can Peter really be an outcast if he doesn't want to be included in the first place? Probably not, but in the face of Peter suddenly mentioning _sir,_ Stiles' mind has short-circuited.

His hand is still against Peter's cock. Why? Because Stiles doesn't _want_ to stop feeling it up yet, but he definitely isn't about to start using some respectful title like _sir._ Because it's not just respectful, it's also kinky, which Peter proves by smirking at him and them mentioning _Daddy_ as another option - as some _interchangeable_ option. Stiles _should_ want Peter's hand involved in the so-called proceedings, but at the cost of his dignity?

As much as Stiles may want to be glaring or scowling, he doesn't think his face is doing that. Staring up at Peter, he swallows and clenches his jaw. He's already taken too long to answer. 

"I am _not_ calling you sir _or_ daddy." He then gives a frustrated sigh. "That can't be required for you-- for you to get involved." 

Because Stiles is trying to prove that he's not so incredibly ruffled, he moves his hand again over Peter's cock.

* * *

Oh, Peter knows that he's just kicked this exchange a few dozen feet further than it had been before, but there's nothing like posing a challenge to Stiles of this magnitude out of nowhere. If Peter loves pushing his buttons, he loves pushing Stiles to see what he'll do even more. Much as he's always said it in a more joking kind of way, Peter genuinely does respect Stiles' wit and tenacity. Maybe times like these might seem a little odd to focus on those traits, but Peter doesn't think it's so far off the mark.

Stiles is smart. And, _because_ Stiles is smart, Peter watches as he tries to zip through all of his options to see if he'll be able to get out of it with his dignity intact. Secretly, Peter hopes not. He's far more interested in the look on Stiles' face, and on how he might come to justify this later. What lies will he tell himself after the fact to justify what he'll wind up doing?

Eyes glinting in amusement, Peter listens. When Stiles finally does answer - after a pause that is _far_ too long to be at all composed - he smirks to himself. Stiles might deny him both titles (they're arbitrary anyway; Peter's testing) but he _does_ offer his hand up as a consolation prize. Peter's breath hitches slightly, because Stiles' insistence _is_ attractive. He's sorely tempted... but he's also interested to see what Stiles might do.

"Well... I suppose I could be lenient and just let you pass with _please_. I did prove it's not that hard. But..."

Peter looks Stiles over slowly once, his cock giving a small twitch against Stiles' palm as a different thought occurs to him. Peter wets his lips and then eases the touch currently pressing Stiles back against the railing.

"I think I'd like to go down these steps. And I think I'd like _you_ to get on your knees for a more... direct appreciation. I'd be more than happy to get you off, but I don't think you could find fault with one little kiss. Through the jeans," Peter adds, because he doesn't want to push _too_ hard. Stiles on his knees is one thing, but Stiles kissing Peter's dick directly? He suspects that would be far too much. 

* * *

Logically, Stiles should probably do or say whatever's required to get Peter touching his fun bits. Peter's hand had felt good rubbing at him through his boxers. Maybe Peter would even go further now - skin-on-skin contact - and that'd be great. Does it really matter what Stiles says or does in order to get sexual gratification from Peter?

...It probably _shouldn't,_ but for some reason, it does matter to Stiles. He doesn't want to cave in and do whatever Peter wants. Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if he was purely compliant, right? Right. Completely right. 

Peter suddenly bringing up the kinky sort of manners is completely in line with who Peter is as a trash person. Stiles may have elements of perversion - because who doesn't? - but he isn't about to go full 50 Shades of slutty Stiles. Maybe if he just gets back to the rubbing, Peter will let it go. It's a chance Stiles has gotta take.

Peter mentions possibly accepting a _please..._ which is better than adding on _Sir_ or _Daddy_ , but c'mon! Why does Peter need to make things so complicated? Stiles tries to come up with something to say, but before he can, Peter's surprising him by backing up a little. 

And suddenly having less Peter in his personal space is oddly disconcerting? That quickly doesn't matter because Peter goes on Stiles, once again, finds himself shocked.

Get on his knees? A kiss? Kissing Peter's cock through his jeans? Stiles' hand pulls away. His mouth is open, expression frozen in conflict because it's not like Stiles _isn't_ interested in getting up and close with Peter's cock but... but not with Peter phrasing it like that. 

But Stiles doesn't want this to end, so he can't wimp out. 

"That's-- that's all you want?" Stiles finally asks when he gets his voice. His eyes narrow thoughtfully. "I get onto my knees and you _only_ want me to kiss your dick?" 

Stiles' own dick is getting to be awkwardly hard in his jeans, but the prospect of doing things _to_ Peter is thrilling.

* * *

Peter doesn't think he's misrepresenting this. Oh, he's pushing in ways that could backfire spectacularly, but if there's one thing that he's noticed, it's that Stiles is still hard.

No, he's not _only_ hard. He's reeking of arousal. Yes, he's fully prepared to protest until he's blue in the face, but his protesting doesn't make the reality any different. That reality just happens to be that - for whatever reason - Stiles _likes_ touching him. Oh, he definitely wants Peter's hands on him. He wants Peter to get him off. That's a given. 

What turns out to be a very pleasant surprise is how badly Stiles seems to want to get _him_ off, though. When he'd first decided to catch Stiles in the entryway, Peter hadn't expected to learn that little tidbit of information. He'd expected that Stiles would whine and complain and struggle, but would ultimately let Peter get him off again - in some fashion. If it had gone that far. But instead, Peter's left intrigued by the way that Stiles' scent spikes so high in arousal when Peter suggests kissing his cock.

Perhaps part of it is the fact that Stiles would be on his knees, but Peter specifically notices how blown Stiles' pupils get when he mentions kissing his dick through his jeans. Very interesting...

"I only want a kiss," Peter confirms, attempting to not sound as calculating as he suddenly is. He'll play this one carefully, but he's suddenly curious. 

"And if you want my hand on you then, I'd be more than happy to do it. You have my word."

* * *

Why wouldn't Peter want more? _Just_ a kiss and through the jeans? That's kind of tame, but it's not as if Stiles is brimming with confidence about going further though. He doesn't have the experience, but it couldn't be _that_ difficult, right? Open his mouth, use some tongue, don't use teeth, and suck. Viola! Basic principles of a blowjob. Stiles could do it - he could _totally_ do it.It's not cognitively challenging and he's a smart and adaptable young man. Also, he's horny.

But just the idea of getting to his knees and getting his mouth close to Peter's crotch is going further. It's upping the ante. Pushing things. Since realizing that a) Peter was hot, and b) his dick liked Peter, Stiles has thought about various activities he'd like to do with said werewolf. They were never overly detailed because somehow getting into specifics felt like, more real and serious.

Although, considering Stiles had been intercepted by Peter in the stairwell and some stuff has gone down, things _are_ more serious - there's more details now. Like Stiles now knows how Peter's dick feels. He's been reminded that he likes Peter's mouth against his skin too. They're _both_ into this - whatever this is.

Peter may be dictating things, but that's not going to stop Stiles and his ridiculous urge to try and prove that he's not some wimp - that he _can_ do this.

But Peter confirms that he _only_ wants a kiss and Stiles is actually disappointed. His lips purse but he quickly gets an idea - an angle to take. Stiles' face smooths out as he swallows and tries to psych himself up. 

"Okay, yeah," Stiles says. "I'll do it." He steps off the stairs and after Peter does the same, Stiles lowers himself to his knees. He wants to think, 'I can't believe I'm doing this,' but he's not sure if it's really that unbelievable.

Only once he's on his knees does Stiles realize that he's too far from Peter. Either he scootches forward on his knees or Peter would need to step over to him. Stiles imagines that Peter would make him say please, so fuck that. Resolutely, he does what he needs to do and shimmies himself closer to Peter.

* * *

Peter could lie and state that this has nothing to do with power, but he'd be lying. Much as he's sure he'd get disapproving looks from his nephew, this _is_ a power struggle in its basest form. 

Peter wants something, keeps pushing for it, and it's Stiles who gets to decide whether or not to honor his request. If he does, this progresses, but if he doesn't, either Peter finds a different angle to take, or he gives up on this attempt. 

He would rather not give up after coming this far, but if the look on Stiles' face is any indication when Peter says that he _only_ wants a kiss, taking a step back might be the best choice. Stiles looks disappointed, which means that he has expectations of how this might go. Peter is very interested in those expectations, but considering how skittish Stiles has been and how ornery he likes to be, a little denial might be just what the doctor ordered.

It's food for thought. Peter watches Stiles finally agree, and after Stiles makes his way down the stairs, Peter hesitates just for long enough to listen to the floors above. He can't hear anything, and if _he_ can't, then neither can Derek. Satisfied, he follows Stiles down.

And _oh_ , is he glad that he had. Much as Peter had loved seeing Stiles' embarrassment when he'd pissed himself against the oak, there's something equally as sweet when Peter watches Stiles sink to his knees. Peter feels the arousal inside burn a little brighter, but he makes no move to close the distance between them. 

Instead, he watches, expectant, until Stiles seems to understand and awkwardly shuffles closer.

But he doesn't reach out. For a second, Stiles just stares, eye-level with Peter's dick. Truly, it's an attractive sight, but they'd made a deal, and Peter is curious to see what Stiles will do.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," Peter coaxes, reaching out with one hand to brush his fingers idly through Stiles' hair. Complete with the hint of claws. "Just one kiss."

* * *

Knees. Stiles is on his knees. Stiles is on his knees and in the stairwell of Derek's place. With Peter. Peter's here, standing over him. Peter _asked_ for this and Stiles is complying. Stiles _wants_ to do this too. Wants to prove himself, wants to see and feel the evidence of Peter's arousal. 

The weird thing is, Stiles doesn't really get why Peter didn't ask for _more. Just_ a kiss through the jeans? It's pretty tame, all things considered. Stiles has an inkling that he should be putting up more of a fight because it's Peter. _Insufferable_ Peter who made him piss himself out in the preserve. On principle, Stiles should be as difficult as possible because Peter _deserves_ it, but...

Stiles wants this. He doesn't really know why, he just does. He's hard in his own jeans, a potent mix of nerves, excitement, and curiosity present. Eyes wide, Stiles is staring up at Peter and he knows he should just get moving because he's _not_ scared, but he's still not moving.

Peter's words - although encouraging - are also patronizing. What gets Stiles moving is clawed fingers brushing through his hair, making him shiver. Stiles' hands lift, grasping onto Peter's hips, fingers hooking into the belt loops of the jeans. God, he can't believe he's doing this. It's now that it dawns on Stiles that Peter asking for a blowjob would be _less_ embarrassing in a way. But Stiles has already dawdled enough, so he doesn't argue.

Stiles leans forward, the bulge in Peter's jeans waiting. His mouth presses a kiss against Peter's dick, it's not quick, but he doesn't linger. 

Okay. He did it. Stiles breathes out shakily before glancing up at Peter, expectant, but he doesn't know _what_ he's expecting.

* * *

While this _is_ an attempt to play a little safe, it's also got different consequences. Peter doesn't bring anything up; he doesn't have to. Instead, he waits, watching as Stiles stares at the front of his pants, his mind clearly whirling. 

To Peter's delight, it doesn't take Stiles long to realize why Peter had asked him to do this specifically. He might not voice it, but as he shuffles forward on his knees and brings himself closer to Peter's dick, Peter catches a sudden spike of embarrassment on the air. Stiles' cheeks flush in humiliation and he shifts in subtle discomfort, but it's still enough to make Peter's cock take notice. His smirk widens.

Oh, he _could_ have asked Stiles for a blowjob. He's still tempted to. But a blowjob is inherently sexual. It's normalized enough that - while Stiles might have complained and hesitated - he would have had the comfort of knowing that it's expected in this situation.

 _Kissing_ Peter's dick - through his jeans - might hint at sex, but it shines a spotlight on submission, power, and control far more.

Like this, Stiles has no excuse for why he's doing it. He just leans in and - cheeks a lovely shade of pink - he does it. Peter feels the pressure of Stiles' lips against the front of his jeans, but it's the soft exhale and the sheer rush of power that comes with the sight of it that has Peter letting out a low hum of approval.

Just like forcing Stiles to piss himself, Peter is still the one pushing. So sue him. He likes extremes. He especially likes _Stiles_ going through extremes.

"I wasn't sure if you'd actually do it," Peter drawls casually, his clawed fingers still skimming along Stiles' scalp. Peter hadn't missed that little shiver of his. 

"You look good on your knees. I should try and get you on them more often."

* * *

Stiles tries to tell himself that it's not a big deal. Kissing Peter's trapped erection isn't some huge accomplishment... but isn't that sort of the problem too? It is worse that Peter _only_ wanted this one thing because it makes Stiles wonder if he's actually allowed to go further, or if it's weird that he would even want to do more. 

Stiles isn't completely sure about his interest in blowing Peter, how much of it is real and how much of it is just a front to prove that he's not some bitch. Maybe it's 50-50, but he doesn't really think it matters. The damn seed's been planted in Stiles' mind and now that he's touched Peter's cock through his jeans - with his hand and mouth - why shouldn't he go further?

He should go further. He's just gotta do it, but instead of his hands getting to work on undoing Peter's jeans, he's looking up at Peter like an idiot. Claws graze along his scalp and it makes Stiles wonder how those claws would feel elsewhere. 

Stiles' eyes widen at Peter just casually mentioning how good he looks on his knees. It's a compliment that he's not sure what to do with. 

As his tongue darts out to lick his lips, Stiles' hands slide closer to Peter's fly. 

"I can do more," he insists as calmly as he can manage. Stiles _hopes_ he sounds more flirty, but he's never been a smooth-talker. "You want me to do more?"

* * *

Peter might be flying by the seat of his pants, so to speak, but he's not alone in that. Looking down at Stiles, it's clear that Stiles is in agreement too. He has no idea what he's doing; they're both improvising, both testing, but the more that Peter focuses on the picture that Stiles makes on his knees, the more he realizes where he wants to take this.

The flicker of doubt that Peter can see in Stiles' eyes is like a bullseye. The flicker of _need_ and _interest_ that he can see only doubles it. And it's then that he really knows that Stiles wishes he'd asked for more. 

Stiles might not know why, but he _wants_ to push further. It's clear in his expression, in the beat of his heart, and in the flush to his skin. Peter can see the impulse growing, and so when Stiles finally reaches up to slide his hands closer to Peter's fly, his voice casually flirtatious, he makes his choice.

It could backfire, but so could everything else. So far, Stiles has been receptive.

"I--," Peter begins intentionally, letting his eyes flicker blue. He cuts himself off immediately, glancing up at the ceiling. He doesn't actually hear anything, but he can feign it well enough. He 'listens' for a moment and then - just like that - Peter reaches down and pushes Stiles' hands away.

"Derek," he explains, even though Derek is probably already in bed. And, before Stiles can make heads nor tails of the situation, Peter reaches down and hauls him up onto his feet. He spins Stiles to press him back against the wall - and his hand immediately slides down to cup the obvious erection that he can feel tenting Stiles' slacks.

He _had_ given his word to touch Stiles, after all. He's an asshole, but he keeps his promises.

"We'll talk about this later. I'd get going, if I were you." Peter gives Stiles' dick a small squeeze and in the next second, he's by the front doors, ducking through them. But, at the last minute, Peter pauses and looks back over his shoulder at Stiles, an amused glint in his eyes. 

"Oh, and you can keep those clothes you borrowed. Consider them a gift."

* * *

Stiles is _still_ on his knees and not only that, his hands are moving to get at Peter's fly. All he's gotta do is get at the button, push it through the hole, and then drag down Peter's zipper. 

Fuck, Peter had done that to him weeks ago. It could be Stiles' turn to do it. Once that's accomplished, he gets to decide if he would wiggle Peter's jeans down - and _ohhhh,_ what does Peter wear underneath? Boxers or briefs? There's a lot of shit Stiles could figure out - stuff Stiles _wants_ to find out.

But his hands don't reach their destination. After a flash of werewolf-blue eyes, Stiles' hands are pushed away. His head darts back, more incredulous and confused because Peter should totally want to get a blowjob for him, right? Peter's hard - Stiles has seen and felt the proof - so why wouldn't--

Derek. That's the reason Peter gives. Stiles frowns and tries to debate if Derek would actually come and check on him, but he can't work out anything as Peter just easily picks him up and deposits him on his feet as if he was nothing but a doll. 

"Hey--" but, yet again, he's cut off as he's rudely spun around and pinned against the wall now. And okay, Stiles likes being pinned against things sure, but not when he was trying to accomplish Mission: Blow Peter's Mind By Blowing His Dick. 

It's _Stiles'_ dick that gets touched - through his own jeans now - and Stiles' indignation vanishes from his face. Unfortunately, he doesn't even get to really enjoy Peter's hand because Peter's calling it quits and Stiles finds himself left disheveled and wide-eyed and trying to process how things just went _poof_ in under a minute.

When Peter mentions the "borrowed" clothes, Stiles immediately stands up straighter with a glare on his face. 

"I already burnt them," he lies, but Peter leaves in a hurry and Stiles' mind gets back in gear as he sorts himself out. 

The possibility of being caught by Derek should get his ass in gear... but Stiles still finds himself disgruntled that he didn't get to do what he wanted to do. Fuck. If possible, things are even _more_ complicated now and he's pretty sure that it's Peter's fault. Yeah, it's definitely Peter's fault.


	3. Pinned against a motel wall Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with more filth...

* * *

* * *

Peter doesn't contact Stiles immediately. Not because the thought doesn't cross his mind, but because now he's curious to see what anticipation might bring. He hadn't missed the spark of interest, nor the way that desperation had quickly started to grip Stiles once he'd dropped down onto his knees, but this isn't _just_ about sex. This is about challenge. Peter wouldn't have taken the risk in the preserve if he hadn't thought that Stiles would rise to the challenge if provoked, and he had. Now he's wondering what else could happen.

Nothing has really gone wrong in town in months now. Peter's bored. So sue him; he finds his own entertainment.

The memory of Stiles on his knees _does_ linger in Peter's mind as the next week passes. He remembers how dark Stiles' eyes had gotten, remembers the way his hands had crept up almost hopefully. He remembers how Stiles' scent had spiked with arousal... 

But he also remembers how Stiles had leaned in and kissed Peter's dick through his jeans. The thrill that had come with that had been well worth it.

It's two weeks later that Peter makes his decision. It's been a while since he'd indulged in any kind of social experiment, and he's down to two options. Best to get a baseline first...

He steals Stiles' number from Scott's phone during a pack meeting one evening. It's painfully easy to swipe Scott's phone while he's talking to Derek; neither of them notice, and Peter quickly jots Stiles' number down before returning Scott's phone. Later that night, alone in his apartment, Peter sends Stiles a text.

 _712 Briar Lane_ , _off of I-10. 7:00 p.m. Friday._

 _If you need to ask who this is, you're not as smart as I think you are_.

Peter shuts his phone off directly after, smirking. He's confident that Stiles will show up.

The motel is cheap and common, and Peter inwardly loathes the fact that he's chosen it, but on Friday, he does go, does hand down the cash for a room (to a very bemused looking woman behind the counter) and makes his way inside. 

He's curious to see what Stiles will do, and as Peter settles himself back on the bed, he thanks every bit of forethought on his part that he'd elected to wear an old, faded pair of jeans. The purple henley he's wearing is new, but the leather jacket will be easy enough to spot-clean later. He's got to _look_ the part, after all.

* * *

Stiles doesn't know what the fuck to think. He can't believe that he actually wanted to suck Peter's dick. No, he was _going to_ try and do it. Hadn't his hands been moving to get at Peter's fly? Christ, Stiles thinks that he totally _would_ have done it. He would have opened his mouth and taken in Peter's cock, sucking and licking and tasting--

That night, Stiles ends up jerking off to the thought of it. Not _just_ blowing Peter, but a clawed hand stroking through his hair, Peter groaning and all because of him, _because_ of Stiles... It's the first fantasy that has any real details and Stiles comes hard, biting down on his bottom lip to stifle his moan as come coats his hand.

Given that he ran into Peter randomly at Derek's, Stiles has no idea how to plan or prepare for what's going to happen next. Because there's going to be a next time, isn't there? He's not sure, and that's irritating. Stiles thinks Peter had mentioned something about talking about something, but Peter had also mentioned the stupid clothes that Stiles had borrowed. Talking doesn't necessarily imply action.

The thing is, Stiles _wants_ it to happen again. He'd been a little on the fence before, but not so much now. Although he definitely doesn't want to like, seek Peter out or _make_ something happen. No. No way. He doesn't want it that bad.

So Stiles doesn't do anything. He doesn't try and find Peter or ask where Peter lurks. He's beginning to think that nothing's going to happen when, of course, he gets a text that is either from Peter or some psycho killer. 

Stiles immediately looks up the address and it's... A crumby _motel._ It's at least not a pay by the hour type, but that's not saying much. Stiles swallows nervously because there's implications if Peter went and rented a motel, right? 

Like, privacy and having all night, and how people rent rooms to have sex in, and does Peter want to have _sex_ with him? Shit.

Stiles has time to debate whether or not he'll show up and that might be the worst part - thinking about it, pretending to go back and forth just to play Devil's advocate with himself.

When Friday evening rolls around, Stiles showers and cleans himself a little more thoroughly than he usually would. He doesn't exactly know how to dress for this occasion because it's not like he has sexy clothing, but he picks a t-shirt that's a size too small, the fabric clinging to him in hopefully an appealing way. Clean jeans are put on, with clean socks and... Scuffed sneakers. Whatever. His hair is on point, his face miraculously free of a breakout. This is as good as he's ever going to look.

With extreme effort, Stiles does not speed. Peter didn't give him the room number which means he'll have to hope that the door that Peter's parked in front of will be the right one. Stiles could text and ask, but he spots Peter's douchemobile immediately and parks next to it. 

Eyeing the room - 107 - Stiles takes a steadying breath before getting out of the Jeep and walking over to the peeling door before knocking.

It's too late now. He's here.

* * *

The motel is off the highway, tucked away from the main street on a side-road. It's visible by the exit and advertised as a 'rest stop' on a few billboards here and there, but it certainly isn't the first one that most people see. It's cheap, and it could do with a wrecking ball and a contractor, but it's not a pay-by-the-hour place, and it's as clean as one could hope from a motel.

Oh, Peter could have easily paid for a _hotel_ , but he's curious to see how this will make Stiles react. Both a motel and a hotel _imply_ something, but a hotel would likely add more of an obligation to Stiles. He'd likely feel as though he _had_ to go along with anything that Peter wanted simply by nature of the cost.

A motel has a grittier, sleazier feel to it, which could also influence Stiles' choices, but Peter thinks that this might offer Stiles a little bit more of a foundation. 

Whatever this is, Peter doesn't want Stiles to comply because he feels like he _has_ to. That's not the point. He wants Stiles to comply after pushing back, compromising, thinking it through, and challenging him right back. Whatever this is, Peter doesn't want complacency.

He hears the distant puttering of the Jeep's engine not too long after he's arrived. Peter looks up, curious, because he hadn't given Stiles the room number. Another little test of sorts, perhaps, but when he hears Stiles' footsteps and his hesitation before a knock sounds on the door, Peter is impressed despite himself. Nervous as Stiles undoubtedly is, he'd still managed to deduce the right room.

Peter makes his way over to the door. He makes Stiles wait for a few seconds - just to listen to his pulse pick up speed - and then he opens the door.

Admittedly, Peter had been expecting Stiles in a hoodie, possibly baggy jeans, and a graphic tee of some sort. Which means that he's pleasantly surprised to see the way that Stiles' t-shirt clings to him. A shame, that. Stiles _does_ like wearing clothes that hide how fit he actually is, so this is different. He still looks nervous, but he looks good - like he'd actually put in some effort.

Peter wonders if it's an attempt to make himself feel more confident, or if it's for Peter's benefit. It's thrilling that he can't tell.

"Well, now. Look at you," Peter says smoothly, stepping aside to let Stiles in. "Someone might almost think that you came here for a _reason_."

* * *

Stiles tries to not fixate on the fact that this motel doesn't look especially nice. It really doesn't look like the kind of place Peter-fucking-Hale would ever willingly go to and yet, apparently he has? God, Stiles is so relieved that Peter's car is here and this isn't some prank in the making. The thought did cross his mind - Peter setting him up, getting him to show up and wander around like a hopeful idiot and maybe take a pic of him doing it...

Technically, Peter could still do that. Peter could have driven here and then--

What the fuck is taking Peter so long to answer the damn door? Stiles shifts on his feet, apprehension climbing as his brain wants to formulate all the things that Peter could do in this situation to either humiliate or piss him off.

Thankfully, the door unlocks and it's not someone else, not a stranger. It's Peter, looking put together and oddly at ease to be seen in such an establishment. Stiles' first breath out is a noisy exhale of relief. That relief doesn't last long as Peter's eyes look him over. Does Peter notice a difference? And is it good if he does? But what if Peter _doesn't_ notice that he's tried to look better?

Peter looks good, of course, even in purple. Stiles is going to blame the leather jacket on that. The compliment has him sniffing to cover up the smile that wants to show up as he steps inside the room that's...

Not as gross as Stiles was expecting, but it's still not nice. He closes the door behind him and now that he's alone and in a room and with Peter, things are starting to feel more real.

"I did come here for a reason," Stiles asserts as confidently as he can manage. "Just like you booked this room for a reason."

* * *

Stiles looks like he's coming down off of a particularly sharp high as he steps into the room. Peter has seen him after a scare before. The last time that Stiles had almost been jumped by their monster-of-the-week, he'd looked exactly as neurotic as he does now, only it had taken him longer to calm down. He hadn't been quite so fidgety, though. And, as Peter watches Stiles make his way inside, he doesn't miss the way that Stiles' fingers move to work off some of his nerves.

He likes the fact that they've reached a point where simply being in the same room as Stiles can make him nervous. Peter smirks to himself, and when he breathes in as Stiles walks past him, he swears he can almost _smell_ the anticipation and uncertainty. It's quite the potent cocktail.

The more that Peter watches Stiles, the more aware he gets that Stiles has particular tells. Despite the way that Stiles had let out a breath of relief, Peter swears that the little sniff that Stiles lets out after has a specific purpose as well. To cover a gasp? To center himself? To keep from smiling? Something like that. Learning Stiles' tells is proving to be quite enjoyable.

"Admittedly, part of me just wanted to see if you'd actually come," Peter offers, more because he doubts that Stiles will be expecting him to own up. Pointedly, he reaches out and shuts the motel door with a soft _click_ , and then pulls the chain across to lock the door. 

"But something tells me that _you_ knew that I'd be here. So... tell me, Stiles. What was _your_ reason for coming here?"

* * *

It doesn't escape Stiles' observation that Peter is, in fact, wearing a _purple_ coloredhenley. Oddly enough, it doesn't look half bad, but that may be because Peter's _also_ wearing a leather jacket over it, paired with faded jeans, and the whole casual-but-sophisticated look apparently works for Stiles, and he kind of wishes that it didn't.

Stiles isn't scared, he's curious, maybe even suspicious. He's also a little edgy, a little nervous, and a little excited. Okay, Stiles is a lot of things right now, but he doesn't think he can be blamed for experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions given the situation he currently finds himself in.

Peter picked this motel out ahead of time, paid money for a room, and then invited him. Additionally, Stiles doesn't even know how Peter got his number, but that's not the biggest thing on his mind. The Briar Lane Motel is hardly the worst motel out there, but it's not nice either, and it's definitely not the type of place Peter Hale would willingly be seen at, in, or around. Yet... Here he is.

Here they are. And Peter casually answers him in a way that throws Stiles off balance. It's like, whenever he expects Peter to be vague or coy, he decides to be blunt and easy-going instead. It's annoying. 

Stiles' eyes dart around the room, but there's not much to see. Bed. Dresser with a TV on it. Nightstand. Tiny fridge. A typical cheap motel get up, but it's not dirty at least. It doesn't look like Peter's been here long either. 

Stiles decides that two can play at the blunt game. He looks Peter in the eyes and answers, "I wanted to finish what I didn't get to start back in the stairwell."

* * *

Peter catches the immediate flare of frustration behind Stiles' eyes and he can't help the faintest smirk that steals across his lips. He does love throwing Stiles for a loop, and this is no different. Watching him now, taking note of the way that Stiles keeps looking around the room as though searching for answers, Peter bites back the urge to chuckle and instead he lets Stiles work this out on his own.

He's expecting Stiles to get flustered, maybe to stammer out a response or to get upset. 

What Peter _isn't_ expecting is for Stiles to counter his bluntness with some of his own. Peter blinks, caught off guard, but it's only a fleeting expression. All too quickly it replaces itself with a flicker of interest and amusement, because Stiles _does_ have this habit of surprising him. It's _thrilling_.

"Well now. Aren't _we_ bold." Peter says casually, though he doesn't look away from Stiles for a few seconds. He's thinking, calculating, looking Stiles over thoughtfully as though assessing him. In truth, Peter's just considering his next step.

"I must say, one generally needs to ask _for_ a blowjob. It's rare that someone needs to ask to _give_ one," Peter muses as he walks over to take a seat on the bed. 

And, with a faint glimmer of interest in his eyes - because he's suddenly curious - he adds: "You _do_ know that you don't need to. Don't you?"

* * *

If Peter's going to sort of be blunt (but still somehow vague), Stiles can do the same thing. Stiles gives his answer and he believes it to be true. After all, he's been thinking about doing it. More than that, Stiles _fantasized_ about it - a legit fantasy with actions and implications. Stiles willingly got off on the idea of blowing Peter.

It's not that there's anything wrong about cock sucking - either wanting it or getting it - but the fact that it's _Peter's_ dick Stiles is interested in... That has more issues attached to it. In the early days, shit was easier - when Stiles was just attracted to Peter in a general way and nothing was happening because of it. But now? 

Stiles doesn't know what to expect. Peter's unfortunately far too good at being an unpredictable asshole - but maybe that makes him kind of predictable in a way? As potentially horrible as this could go, Stiles is still here and hoping for the best? What that 'best' might be, Stiles isn't sure. He _does_ wanna suck Peter off, to prove that he can, and that he's not some scaredy-cat. 

What Peter says might be true - the whole needing to ask for one versus asking to give a blowjob - but they had extenuating circumstances last time and Peter wanted to be difficult and weird for whatever reason. Stiles is left standing by the door as Peter moseys on over to the bed and sits on the end of it. 

Then stupid falls out of Peter's mouth. Nothing new, really.

"I know I don't _need_ to," Stiles retorts and he strides into the room, but stops before coming closer to Peter as a question pops into his head. 

"Do you not... _want_ me to?"

* * *

Peter suspects that he knows where this is going to go. He's piquing Stiles' interest a little too much for Stiles to back down, and if push comes to shove, Peter is beginning to think that Stiles will actually _do_ this. Whether or not that's the way that Peter wants the evening to go is another matter entirely. 

Oh, he could let Stiles try his hand - or his mouth - at sucking him off. It would probably feel good, inexperience be damned. Yet, as Peter sits on the bed and watches Stiles stride over to him, he has to wonder if that's what he _wants_ to have happen. What would he gain from giving Stiles what he wants?

That's the thrilling part about doing anything with Stiles. Every second that Peter spends pushing him is one more that could go in any direction possible. There's no predicting Stiles. Nor does Peter want to be able to. Not yet, anyway.

Stiles' answer breaks the silence between them. Peter pauses where he sits on the bed, interest flickering again in his eyes as he considers the question. 

_Does_ he want Stiles to suck him off? Oh, he's tempted. In fact, given Stiles' enthusiasm, it would likely be a thrilling experience. 

But. Peter isn't sure whether he wants this to end here. 

"I don't think any man in his right mind would turn down a blowjob," Peter responds dryly, lifting an eyebrow as he looks up at Stiles. 

"Though, I _do_ have my doubts over how much experience you've had. Was the little thing in the preserve your first time?"

* * *

Peter's been answering him, but Stiles doesn't really know what Peter wants, expects or is planning and it's pretty aggravating. Unfortunately, it's not irritating enough to stop Stiles because he's here. Peter said jump and he fucking jumped. Maybe he didn't ask, 'how high?' but he still did it, and it stands to reason that maybe he'll keep listening to Peter.

Which is exactly why Stiles wants to do something that he _wants_ to do. Peter hadn't brought it up or asked for it (still weird). This urge popped into Stiles' mind. It's his own idea and maybe it's not the desire that most people would have, but whatever. Peter pinned him in the preserve - pushed him - and Stiles wants to push back. 

Even so, it's difficult to be some sort of badass about it. Just because Stiles _wants_ to give Peter an oral hoover job, doesn't mean that he can just go and do it. He sort of needs Peter's acceptance and allowance because Peter could totally stop him. Unlike Peter, Stiles can't do any real pushing.

So he asks what he asks and he definitely doesn't like how Peter's eyes flick over him in consideration. Stiles doesn't move. He stands perfect still as Peter mentions the issue of Stiles' _experience_ \- or lack thereof. Instead of getting nervous, Stiles gets pissy. Getting irritated is way better than the alternative. 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Stiles blurts back, standing taller in indignation as his hands fling out. "It's not like sucking your dick is rocket science!"

* * *

Oh, Peter knows that he's risking Stiles getting angry at him, because when people feel insecure, anger is the typical response. Technically speaking, he's calling out Stiles' inexperience as a reason for Stiles _not_ getting to do what he wants, which could backfire spectacularly. Peter is still learning limits, and he's not sure just how far Stiles will let him go before he calls it quits entirely. 

Peter doesn't exactly _want_ to reach that point. He'd much rather Stiles be uncertain and yet still challenge him right back. It's no fun if Stiles stops playing.

So, aware that Stiles is annoyed, Peter considers how best to play this. Given the fact that they're in a motel, Stiles likely expects that he'll be asked to do _something_. Peter's just not sure where he wants that to go. Yet.

Then Stiles says that sucking his dick wouldn't be rocket science, and Peter lets out a soft chuckle.

" _Oh?_ " He asks, tone _dripping_ amusement. "Well, if you're that certain, you're welcome to give it a try. Though, I expect you'll find that there is a _little_ bit of skill behind it. Skill that I would be more than happy to give you first-hand experience in."

* * *

The thing is, Stiles doesn't have a lot of experience, and the experience that he does have happens to be with the opposite sex. Because Stiles is a proud bisexual, he just hasn't had many opportunities to get up and close with his own gender. Yet.

Except, that's not necessarily true now. He _does_ have some experience, but it's with Peter freakin' Hale, and Stiles has really mixed feelings about it. Like, on one hand, Stiles nabbing the interest of an older hot guy is kinda cool, but it's _Peter,_ who's a trash creeper. And while everything they've done is weird, they haven't even done _that much_ which is sort of the problem... At least, that's what Stiles thinks.

He's now trying to remedy that. Stiles needs to give Peter a damn BJ, okay. It'd be something _normal_ for once and maybe a little normal is fine?

Peter chuckles at his rebuttal which doesn't really make Stiles feel any better, especially when Peter responds, insisting that there _is_ a bit of skill involved. What shakes Stiles up is Peter offering to give him "first-hand experience." 

Peter wants to give him head? Traitorously, his cock perks up in excitement because Peter had also been right, what guy wouldn't want oral sex? 

"What?" Stiles says, blinking incredulously. "You gonna go all _sensei_ on me? Teach me the ways of being an excellent cock sucker?" Sarcasm and attitude is his tried and true defense.

* * *

Admittedly, Peter had mostly said what he had just to see how Stiles would respond. He hadn't exactly planned on getting his mouth on Stiles' cock tonight, especially considering this little power dance that they've both been doing. Yet, as Peter watches the way that a faint flush slips over Stiles' cheeks and as he breathes in the scent of Stiles' sudden spike of arousal, Peter can't help but reconsider. _Power_ is in the eye of the beholder, and as he glances up at Stiles thoughtfully, Peter can't pretend like the idea doesn't have merit.

Stiles' response is predictably unpredictable. He's obviously shocked, and while he does default to sarcasm and to attitude, Peter swears that he can hear the faintest of tremors in Stiles' voice, too. It's low, barely-detectable, but Peter has a rather vested interest in this kind of thing, now.

He sits a little taller, interest flickering in his eyes as he regards Stiles curiously, a small smile playing at his lips.

"You say that like I'd be adverse," Peter points out casually, like he hadn't hesitated over the idea mere seconds ago. "I mean, I'm _more_ than fine if you'd like to give it a try on your own, but having a benchmark might be beneficial. You're _clearly_ interested."

Smile shifting into a smirk, Peter lets his gaze drop down to the front of Stiles' jeans, noting the rise in them that seems larger than it had been before. 

"It's up to you, though. You _did_ seem very upset that I didn't let you do more while you were on your knees for me last time."

* * *

Attitude is always easier. Not that he has a lot of experience in this - which is really annoying. _Peter's_ annoying, but the problem is, Peter's also hot and Stiles' body keeps responding to that. And even though they haven't done that much together, Stiles still wants more. Maybe not that much more... but a little bit more.

Quantifying this kind of thing is difficult. Peter's _also_ difficult, because somehow Stiles wanting to do this one thing - to suck Peter off - has become complicated, and it's all Peter's fault, of course. 

Naturally, Stiles' cock would like Peter's mouth on it because being able to shut up Peter with his dick? A big selling point as far as Stiles is concerned, but...

There's a stupid _but,_ and it's Peter making him nervous about his lack of experience in this area and just so casually _offering_ to give him some sort of demonstration or teaching, but there's no way to guarantee Peter would even stick to his word because that's also a Peter-ism.

Stiles is left standing in the middle of the crappy motel room as Peter seems to go back and forth with what he says, giving Stiles no hint as to what his true intent is. 

"I'm pretty sure having a benchmark _wouldn't_ be beneficial," Stiles finally states. "For all I know, you could be a professional cock sucker."

Which then implies that Stiles might _not_ measure up at all. 

* * *

Peter can scent Stiles' growing frustration. While normally it wouldn't be advisable to make the person offering to suck his cock feel insecure, Peter can't help but twist this up a little more. His attitude towards Stiles has never been conventional to begin with, and Stiles is remarkably resilient against a number of Peter's attempts at unsettling him. He's liable to push back just as hard as Peter pushes him, which is precisely Peter's point.

He has no plans going into this. He hadn't had any plans while inviting Stiles over. He's just curious to see what Stiles will do, and what might result from it.

Still, he can tell that he's confusing Stiles. Or, at least that he's making him hesitate. Even _that_ is interesting, though, because Peter can scent the frustration and half-arousal. He's aware of the small frown on Stiles' lips, and the nerves in the room, and he _does_ want to push those further--

But then Stiles answers him, essentially calling Peter a _professional cock sucker_ , and despite Peter's immediate flare of irritation, he chuckles, amused despite himself. _Touche_.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered about that or not. Though, I suppose that _would_ benefit you, long-term," Peter muses, sending Stiles a thoughtful look.

He looks awkward just standing there, and as Peter watches him, he decides that Stiles looks like he's not sure _what_ to do. Peter's not having any of that.

So, he goes for the tried and true. One moment he's just casually sitting on the bed, and the next moment he has his hand on Stiles' chest, shoving him back in a quick rush to press him back against the wall by the door. Peter doesn't shove him hard, doesn't do anything to _hurt_ him, but he does make a point to cage Stiles in with his body, leaning in to nose just under his jaw and breathe in his scent.

"You are not _nearly_ turned on enough," Peter says, his voice low. "This isn't something that you need to overthink."

* * *

Stiles understands that demonstrations can be helpful - in theory. It stands to reason that he might pick up some tricks from Peter setting that supposed benchmark And, just thinking about Peter on his knees and using his mouth and tongue in such a way? It'd be freakin-a-mazing. He wants it, wants Peter's mouth to be stuffed full of his cock... but Stiles wants to first _do_ something to Peter instead of vice versa.

Stiles knows any level of skill would be incredible because he's actually had a blowjob before - a single one - and the giver had seemed more than a little hesitant. That hadn't negatively affected a thing, however. Stiles _still_ had come hard and probably too fast, but secretly he thinks she was relieved. Somehow he doesn't think Peter would be the same way.

It's safe to assume that Peter's experienced and that Peter showing off and setting up that benchmark could lead to Stiles being compared...

Instead of getting offended about what Stiles has said, Peter decides to take it like some badge of honor and point out that it could benefit _Stiles_ long-term. 

Stiles doesn't get to really dig into that implication because he finds himself quickly pushed and pinned to the wall. It happens so fast that he doesn't let out any shocked sound. It doesn't hurt and he doesn't hit his head at least. 

"What--" He's interrupted by Peter leaning in, Peter _scenting_ him again. A traitorous shudder goes through Stiles at the proximity - at Peter. 

Him reacting is most definitely _not_ because Peter's getting pushy and how sexy his voice sounds. Stiles doesn't move as he tries to pull himself together, but that's easier said than done. 

"You're-- you're making it complicated," Stiles mutters out.

* * *

Sometimes all it takes is a little reminder to push someone back onto the right path. Peter's certainly no saint; he's not trying to be altruistic in any sense. Stiles' comfort benefits him directly, but if he can get Stiles centered on the good kind of uncertainty, then it'll be a win-win for them both.

Even though Peter suspects it, it's still _very_ satisfying to hear the way that Stiles' pulse spikes so high when Peter pins him back against the wall. Breathing in Stiles' scent results in a spike of heat and arousal that rolls off of his body and Peter smirks to himself, enjoying the rush of satisfaction that comes with it. Maybe this is a game - for the both of them - but he can still take personal pleasure in the knowledge that Stiles is _this_ attracted to him. 

It takes Stiles a moment to pull himself together and Peter is generous, letting it happen. He doesn't rush Stiles as he re-centers himself. Instead, he listens to the rapid beat of his pulse and he breathes in the scent of clean skin, arousal, cheap laundry detergent, and something faintly spiced that he's beginning to suspect is just _Stiles_. It's not an unpleasant scent.

When Stiles finally seems to catch up to himself and blurts out his response, Peter draws back just enough to glance at him. He looks unconcerned, one eyebrow arching in faint amusement as he looks Stiles over pointedly.

"There's nothing _complicated_ about this," Peter corrects, his tone casual. He leans in, his lips brushing over Stiles' jaw and he moves slowly to Stiles' ear, trailing lazy kisses and faint scrapes of his teeth. "You know what you want. You know what I can give you. All you need to do is make a choice and be decisive about it. Though," Peter adds, chuckling as he murmurs directly into Stiles' ear: "If you're trying to butter me up, I wouldn't say no to a _please_ , and a _Sir_."

* * *

The fact that Peter legitimately rented this cheap-o semi-scuzzy motel room hasn't fully sunk in yet. Stiles knows that rooms like this are only for penny-pinching travelers and people looking for privacy to do the deed, possibly even _paying_ for that deed too. Really classy and all...

Yet here they are, and this hadn't been an impulsive thing either. To some extent Peter _planned_ this. Thought about this. Thought about him. Wanted to see him. And in this somewhat stuffy room, there's no risk of being caught or rushed, which is both exciting and scary.

Or it would be if Peter wasn't being so difficult and weird. It _shouldn't_ have been complicated for Stiles to just go and suck Peter's cock, but Peter had to get all chatty and distract him, talking about experience and benchmarks and offering to blow him instead. Yeah, Stiles wants that and so much more, but he wanted to go first.

One of the complications is that Peter up and close and pinning him is sexier than it has any right to be, and Stiles kinda doesn't want it to end yet.

Stiles is probably a little easy, but he thinks it's better to be on this end of the spectrum than the reverse. Peter's still here, head pulling back to look at him. Cheeks ruddy, Stiles stares at him, that is, until Peter's mouth gets busy, lips and teeth grazing along his skin. All Stiles can do is tilt his head back, offering Peter his throat because it feels good. His mouth is open in a silent gasp. Maybe it shouldn't feel _this good?_ Whatever Stiles is feeling gets complicated by Peter's words because it's Peter, and that's what he does. 

Being decisive isn't as easy as Peter makes it out to be, and the addition of the whole _please_ and _sir_ thing brings with it a flare of dual embarrassment and annoyance. Stiles' hands reach up and grab onto the sleeves of Peter's jacket and yank. Peter doesn't move but that wasn't Stiles' intention - his hands feel fidgety, like he needs to grab at things, so he does.

"'m not trynin' to butter you up," Stiles retorts, and his head falls back against the wall, eyes closed as he tries to figure out what to do. "And I'm not calling you sir. Can you just kiss me for a bit and then I'll blow you? Isn't that fair?"

* * *

Peter isn't expecting Stiles to bend so easily, so he's not surprised when Stiles doesn't take the bait. Inwardly, he's simply delighted that Stiles is _still_ as spirited as he had been back against that tree, and in the stairwell. He can tell that Stiles is confused, can tell that he's frustrated, but Stiles still isn't shoving him away and storming out, or getting angry, or acting out. He's as calculating as he can be about this, and Peter has always appreciated a kindred spirit.

Frankly, Peter has no plans about how this is going to go. He doesn't need them. Stiles is as adaptable as he is, and despite Stiles' frustration, he's still pushing. He's still meeting Peter stride for stride.

And Peter is most certainly going to lock away the fact that Stiles apparently wants to blow him _this_ badly. Bad enough that it's almost a single-minded focus by now. Flattery will get him everywhere, and maybe it's due to Stiles' simple dogged persistence, or maybe because there's a small thread of distress edging into his scent. 

For whatever reason, when Stiles makes his counter-offer, Peter hums in thought, his lips skimming over Stiles' throat. He's quiet, and then - with a small nip to Stiles' throat that leaves the skin pink, Peter draws back again to look at him.

"I suppose that's a start," Peter allows easily. "You _are_ stubborn, aren't you? I like that. Shows spirit."

Which is about as close to a genuine compliment that Peter has come in the last few weeks. He lifts his free hand to cup Stiles' jaw, and it's not gentle or delicate, but expectant. Then Peter leans in, tilting his head enough so that when his lips press to Stiles', it's a simple matter to push, to tease, to bite gently, and to tempt Stiles with small, not-quite-there flicks of his tongue. 

* * *

Stiles gets it. He really does. Peter likes being difficult and complicating things because it lets him have the upper hand, and who wouldn't want that? Being a step ahead of someone else? Being able to predict or even manipulate certain behavior? It can be a thrill. So far, from what Stiles has experienced, Peter likes being in control, he likes playing his little games and obviously enjoys working him up. 

After Peter had stopped him in the stairwell - claiming Derek - Stiles didn't think much of it. It made sense to stop if they were at risk of being caught, but a day after, he did wonder if Peter was simply playing around. Peter _had_ been hard, yeah, and Stiles is sure that Peter did want a BJ, but what if the game is something Peter wants more?

Obviously some little part in Stiles _also_ likes all these things because he came here and he's fucking playing the game, playing with Peter, trying to offer some potential compromise because he doesn't think he should have to say sir or please if _he_ wants to suck Peter's dick, okay. That's not the way it should work.

The whole showing spirit thing makes him think of wild horses and he's not sure if it's even a compliment, but Peter likes it, apparently, and Stiles likes that, so maybe it's fine.

Any response he may have had is kissed away by Peter. Stiles' fingers curl tighter, grasping at Peter's jacket. He leans a little into the hand cupping his face, just to feel the pressure of it against his skin. _Peter_ is all around him, heat and scent and the threat of danger, and Stiles might like that the best. He can't smell anything other than a dash of some complex cologne or aftershave, but Stiles likes it.

As Peter kisses and teases, Stiles tries his best to keep up, all-too willing and hungry for Peter's mouth to possibly travel elsewhere too. Stiles doesn't consciously make the decision to break away from the kiss and tilt his head back, inviting Peter to his neck and throat, but he does it. Breathing hard, his cock is very much attentive to this current unfolding situation.

* * *

Stiles _is_ willing. He's beautifully responsive, kissing Peter back with a fervor that is surprising. Given how Stiles had reacted in the forest, Peter had assumed a certain lack of experience, but as Stiles kisses him back, gripping his jacket and throwing himself into this moment fully, Peter has to wonder if he'd started from zero or not. If he had, he's an impressively fast learner. Even if he hadn't, the way that he can feel Stiles adapting to this particular style of kissing is still impressive. 

There's no doing this halfway for Stiles. He pushes, he presses, he arches into every touch, and he drinks in Peter's attention. It makes him wonder just how long Stiles has been wanting to do something like this. Since the preserve? Since before? That _is_ a discussion for another day...

It's when Stiles suddenly breaks the kiss that Peter's inward delight spikes. He looks dazed, his lips attractively flushed, his cheeks slightly pink, and his hair a bit of a mess from where it's been pressed against the wall. Then he tilts his head back just enough to be a clear invitation. What's more, Stiles doesn't even look like he's _aware_ of doing it.

Who is Peter to turn down such a thoughtful little offering?

He immediately ducks his head with a low growl, just to smell that spike of thrilled, fear-arousal that prickles along Stiles' scent whenever he does it. Without asking - because permission has been _thoroughly_ granted - Peter's lips press just under Stiles' chin, kissing the skin there and then trailing down. He drags his teeth over the swell of Stiles' Adam's apple just to leave welts behind, and then he moves over, finding the strongest pulse point in Stiles' throat to suck at. This time, Peter doesn't stop himself from going hard enough to leave a mark. He's fairly sure that Stiles is too wrapped up in sensation to notice, or to care.

"You _are_ responsive," Peter praises against Stiles' throat, pressing in close enough to feel the hardness of Stiles' cock against his hip. Peter's not hard yet, but that's calculated. If Stiles is so eager to follow this through, Peter intends to make him work for it. 

* * *

Earlier, when thinking about what could happen or might happen or what he should do, this wasn't exactly what Stiles had in mind. Currently, he finds himself pinned to a cheap motel wall, Peter's body perfectly slotted against his, and Peter's doing much too good of a job of turning him on and messing him up.

Stiles wanted to come in all confidently and blow Peter's cock _and_ mind. He hadn't really figured out the steps necessary to go from A to D, but it probably would have involved walking over to Peter, sliding down to his knees, getting at Peter's crotch, and then going for the dick. Logically, it doesn't _sound_ that difficult to do, and yet...

Peter complicated _everything_ and after being manhandled and kissed silly, Stiles can't really remember why they're currently doing this or how it started, but it's probably a safe bet to blame Peter. When in doubt, blame Peter. That's a good life motto to adopt. 

Breathing quickly, lips wet and sensitive, Stiles tries to get himself back under control, to take a deeper breath. He doesn't manage it. He _can't_ manage it when Peter's leaning in and Stiles hears one of the sexiest sounds ever - Peter growling. It's weird because it might be sexy, but it's _also_ dangerous because Stiles knows what Peter's capable of. 

But Stiles' throat isn't ripped out. Peter merely kisses down his neck, blunt human teeth dragging against his skin, and Stiles can't help but shudder.

When Peter begins to suck a hickey onto the side of his neck, Stiles' fingers momentarily lose their grip on Peter's jacket before fumbling their way back to grab back onto the leather. The sucking hurts a little, but it's more good than bad, and Stiles makes no effort to stop it. Unlike a werewolf, he won't heal, he can get bruises. A hickey from Peter. It doesn't even faze Stiles. 

The 'comment' Peter gives - that he's _responsive_ \- might be said positively, but Stiles swears there's gotta be some catch or condescension too - a sliver of sass embedded given that it's Peter Hale. Any offense becomes obliterated by Peter pressing in closer, Stiles' trapped dick pressed up against Peter's hip. 

According to Stiles, the only appropriate action to take is to grind against Peter, and that's what he does. Deciding to go with the old adage of fortune favoring the bold, Stiles' hands drop to work their way underneath Peter's jacket and shirt. His palms come to rest on Peter's lower back, the skin there warm and firm. He's never really touched Peter like this, but Stiles is curious - he _wants_ to feel Peter like this. He's _going_ to feel Peter like this.

* * *

Peter isn't sure if he's expecting Stiles to reel back, or to stop him, but he's pleasantly surprised when that's not what happens. Instead, Peter's treated to a truly submissive tilt to Stiles' head. He doesn't just tilt his head to the side. He tips it _back_. He bares his throat like Peter couldn't just rip it out if he wanted to. It's a foolish measure of trust that Peter doesn't deserve, but it does its part in endearing Peter even more to him. Fortune favors the bold, indeed...

Besides, much as this is calculated, Peter gets a thrill at the idea of marking Stiles' throat up. A frisson of excitement creeps up his spine at the idle thought of someone noticing and wondering. Oh, this isn't a mark of ownership; Peter isn't _that_ feral, but the thought of Stiles not being able to pretend that this hadn't happened is pleasant.

As is the way that Stiles' hands suddenly become mobile. Peter isn't expecting Stiles to get handsy, and if he _had_ been expecting that, he would have expected Stiles to go for his dick. Instead, Peter pauses when Stiles' hands slide down and his fingertips creep under Peter's shirt.

He doesn't stay still for long. Pleased, feeling the slightly-cooler touch of Stiles' fingers and hands smoothing against his lower back, Peter rumbles that same, soft growl under his breath and goes right back to marking Stiles' throat up. He hadn't missed that delicious little spike of arousal when he'd done it the first time, and given the little hitched movements of Stiles' hips, Peter thinks he's getting something out of it.

Which means that when Peter suddenly presses Stiles a little harder against the wall and nudges his thigh in between Stiles' legs, it's calculated. Peter flexes his thigh against the outline of Stiles' dick, keeping him pinned but taking over the pressure and friction _his_ way.

"If you want to touch, don't be shy," Peter teases, nipping just under Stiles' chin until the skin flushes pink. 

"I like you being bold. It suits you. Much more befitting your personality."

* * *

This isn't what Stiles wants to be doing. He wants to show Peter that he's serious and capable of getting down and dirty, of going further, of doing something that _he_ wants, when he wants... but the problem is, Peter pushing him up against things gets him really excited. And maybe it's a little fucked up to like being manhandled by the werewolf, but he does like it. Stiles fucking likes it.

And Peter's mouth - lips, tongue, teeth included - make Stiles dizzy and restless in the best way, so of course he'd want more. Peter's mouth should embark on a journey, the destination? StilesLand!

They really should get naked, but as soon as that thought hits him, Stiles knows he'd probably get self-conscious because he's not as big and buff as Peter is. Stiles isn't a twig, though. He's got some lean muscle on him... But he's also got his pale skin attacked by freckles and moles and what if Peter doesn't like them?

...And what if he does? And self-conscious is kinda like embarrassment, and hadn't Stiles sorta got off on that before?

There's too many questions zinging around in his brain and now he's touching Peter's skin and Stiles wants to do more than that, touch more, maybe even scratch blunted nails against Peter. And maybe he can do that because Peter isn't stopping him and that knowledge is like a stroke right to his dick. 

He hears Peter softly growl before getting back at his neck, and Stiles suddenly feels way too turned on for what little they've done. Maybe even close to coming, and he's never been _this_ easy before. Christ.

Peter's thigh working its way between his legs and pressing up against his groin - against the raging hard-on he has is yet another complication. It's gotta be all the variables doing this to him, the anticipation, the expectation, the nerves, the privacy, the room, the implication--

Peter's voice is an encouraging tease and Stiles' hands do rub up and down the planes of Peter's back - he can't help it. It's both more and not enough. The image of Peter pinning him naked - and how that'd feel - slams into him. He tries to take slower breaths, his hips not moving anymore. 

This really isn't _that_ hot. It's just Peter kissing and nipping along his neck and throat. It's just Peter's back. It's just Peter's firm thigh against his crotch.

"I'm not shy," is all Stiles mutinously says in return, but he's mostly trying to calm down despite his body's protests.

* * *

Though Peter has only smelled Stiles close to coming once before, it's not a scent that he's ever going to forget. To be honest, he's not expecting to suddenly smell it _now_ , and the realization that Stiles' scent has spiked is briefly enough to give Peter pause. He doesn't make it obvious, going back to what he'd been doing before, but his attention is caught on how hot Stiles' scent is. Peter wonders if he even knows how worked up he's getting, and isn't _that_ a boost to the ego...

He could make this easy. He could just reach down and palm Stiles through his jeans. He could push him that much further and listen to those delicious little sounds that Stiles lets out when he's desperate, but Peter isn't sure if he's going to need to. All it takes is one small breath in as he noses under Stiles' ear for him to drag in the thick, hot scent of arousal and desperation.

Peter feels the way that Stiles' hands slide up and down his back, exploring, yes, but greedy in a way that he hasn't allowed himself to be yet. Peter simply goes silent, listening, and sure enough, Stiles' pulse is erratic, but not with fear. With arousal, with embarrassment, with desire, and _oh_ , he _is_ a complicated one, isn't he?

Peter doesn't miss the way that Stiles' hips still, or the way that he suddenly starts to breathe slower. He doesn't miss the tension in the air. It's so obvious that it's almost cute when Stiles still tries to answer him, protesting to the end. Peter admires that.

"No, you're not, are you..." Peter comments lowly, intentionally turning his voice into a rougher growl as he licks a small, blatant path up the side of Stiles' jaw. Stiles seems to like the little show of 'animal' here and there. 

"Not _shy_ at all. But _close?_ Oh, you're way beyond that, aren't you?"

Peter makes his decision then, without thinking about it. There's no logic to it as he suddenly slides his free hand down and cups Stiles' dick through his jeans. One quick flick of his thumb undoes the button on Stiles' jeans and then Peter's hand is pressing firm against the outline of Stiles' cock through his boxers. He doesn't stop to ask, doesn't even touch Stiles skin-on-skin... yet. Instead, Peter strokes and rubs his palm against the front of Stiles' boxers, with only one goal in mind.

He _does_ like watching Stiles lose it. 

* * *

This isn't a big deal. Peter's pinned him before. Kissed him before. Peter's also teased and taunted him before.

But never in a skeevy motel room where Stiles keeps thinking about what usually happens in places like this, and what _could_ happen, and what he _wants_ to happen--

No. Wants to _do_. Him taking action because he's completely capable of doing that, but that want is getting away from him. He can't see himself telling Peter to stop because he wants to suck him off. Stiles can't see himself pushing Peter away, not when every little thing is winding him up like some goddamn toy.

And Stiles is also thinking about if the rooms next to them are occupied. He wasn't paying attention when he first located Peter's car. And the chance that someone might hear them? Hear _him?_ It's a big fucking kink he never knew he had, but hello. It's apparently a newly discovered thing. 

Strangers are one thing. Stiles doesn't want to get caught or heard by anyone they know - not Derek in the stairwell, not Scott in the preserve, but whoever else is frequenting this seedy motel would be a stranger. And that stranger could hear them, hear all the sounds he makes because of Peter...

It's the fucking variables. This growing list of variables that are all coming into play and pushing him closer to coming when it's not what Stiles wants - at least not right now. But Peter's breathing him in - scenting him - and Stiles' stomach clenches, because he knows that Peter knows how turned on he is because Peter can smell him. Stiles' hands keep feeling, he wants to memorize the lines and curves and bulges of muscles.

That exploration stutters when Peter's voice drops lower and he licks at him. When Peter points out that he's _close_ , Stiles bites down on his bottom lip, trembling, trying in vain to not give in, to compose himself, but Peter does what he does best: complicates things.

"H-hey!" Is what escapes Stiles' mouth as Peter's hand goes to his dick and effortlessly undoes the button and fly on his jeans. Like it had before in the preserve, Peter's hand snakes in and that treacherous hand begins rubbing along his length and over his boxers. Stiles lets out a strangled moan as his hips instinctually push into Peter's touch before he can stop himself.

"Not--not like this," Stiles grits out, his fingernails now digging into Peter's shoulder blades, his body tight with resistance and arousal. They've already done _this_. 

He can't get off like this again, so soon, not when he had a plan.

* * *

Except, that's exactly what Peter plans on having Stiles do. When it comes down to it, as resistant as Stiles can be, and as stubborn as he is, he's still a teenager. This is all still fairly new to him, and Peter plans on using that to his full advantage. 

Is it cruel? Perhaps. Peter isn't doing it for cruelty's sake, but if it just so happens to coincide with a little sadism, he's not about to complain. As he's very quickly finding, Peter likes pushing Stiles to his limits. He likes pushing him to the edge and holding him there until he struggles a little, and then pushing him over it just to watch it happen. In a man as headstrong as Stiles can be, seeing him crumble is satisfying, but knowing that it's because of _Peter_ is something on an entirely different level.

It's why Peter doesn't stop when Stiles tells him to wait. He listens for the telltale blip in his pulse, the way that his heart speeds up faster when he protests. It's almost blatantly loud, superimposed over Stiles' struggles, telling Peter that Stiles _doesn't_ actually want him to stop at all.

Stiles' hips tellingly jerk forwards as soon as Peter's hand begins to rub and massage and stroke. It's almost amusing how wound up he is. Amusing and arousing. The rush of powerful, pleased satisfaction that Peter gets at the sight, smell, and sound of Stiles desperate and digging his nails into Peter's back is a different kind of high.

 _Not like this -_ as far as protests go - is a weak one, but Peter doesn't say so. He simply doesn't listen. And, as he rumbles a low growl in his throat and slides his hand up to focus his attention fixedly where Stiles' boxers are damp, around the head of his cock, his distaste for the protest is likely obvious. But, just in case...

" _Yes_ , like this," Peter counters. "You didn't seem inclined to make a decision, so I'm making it instead. You're going to make an absolute _mess_ of yourself while I touch you, and if I have my way, you're going to do it all over again." Peter scrapes his teeth - pointed, no longer human - along Stiles' throat and strokes Stiles' cock through his boxers quickly and mercilessly. 

"Understood?"

* * *

When driving here and walking into this very room, Stiles was equipped with some jumbled together plan - or at least a goal he wanted to achieve. But that plan or goal? Nowhere to be seen now. Like, that loose plan is currently in another country or on a different planet, maybe even in some other galaxy, because in a few minutes time, Peter's effortlessly taken control and knocked Stiles completely off balance. 

It feels like everything's rapidly spinning away from Stiles. No more plan. No achieving his goal. And maybe having the goal of sucking Peter off isn't some lofty or respectable goal - it's certainly nothing Stiles wants to share with his friends - but it is what he wanted to do.

Peter and his goddamn complications are what's to blame. Oh, and Stiles can't forget about all the variables either, nope.

While Stiles' dick is eager to get off, it's not what he _really_ wants. Sure, he's hard and restless and Peter can smell that he's close, but all of that's just his body's eager beaver reaction. He doesn't _need_ to come - and he certainly doesn't want to come in his boxers again. 

God, not again. They're finally in a position where it doesn't have to happen like that. Stiles _could_ undress, he doesn't need to jizz in his boxers. This is not something that ought to be repeated again!

It won't matter how hard he digs his fingernails into Peter because he can't stop Peter. Can't push him away or overpower him. And yes, _fine_ , it's hot - but it's also a little worrisome because Stiles really, _truly,_ doesn't want to come like this, but Peter's hand _doesn't_ stop, and it's only more clear that it's not going to stop as Peter answers him. 

Hearing Peter talk about how he's going to make a mess, how he's going to try and do it _again_?

Stiles unravels further. Fangs graze along his throat as Peter's hand rubs ruthlessly. Stiles tenses, trying in vain to hold himself back from that place of no return. God, is he really going to--

Peter says one word, asks one question - if he understands - and the answer is _yes_. Yes, he understands, and yes he's coming and making a mess out of himself.

With a tight groan, Stiles writhes against Peter as he comes in his boxers, cock throbbing. He does manage to gasp out, "you _asshole!_ "

* * *

To Stiles' credit, he does hold back admirably. Peter can see the effort that it takes him to try and center himself, and to try and push himself away from the inevitable. But the thing about the inevitable is that it's just that - inevitable. It's going to happen; it's just a matter of time as to when it's going to happen, and that thought is nothing if not delicious. Peter feels each of Stiles' struggles under his hand, feels the way that Stiles' nails dig into his back to try and fight back in the only way that he can.

It's not enough. Peter is persistent, and Stiles - for all that he's clearly combative and reticent - is still obedient. And isn't _that_ a curious little discovery. Peter isn't sure if it's truly the word 'understood' that does Stiles in, but he's pretty sure that it is. He files it away, noting how it makes Stiles' scent spike, and how Stiles' nails on his back both dig in harder and slip carelessly over his skin as his hips jerk and his cock begins to throb and pulse against Peter's hand.

The scent of Stiles' come is nothing but musk and arousal and satisfaction, but Peter basks in that satisfaction. He keeps Stiles pressed back against the wall as Stiles writhes against it, desperate and helpless as pleasure overtakes him. Peter leans back enough to watch him, feeling the wetness spreading against his hand as he takes in the exquisite look of agonised pleasure on Stiles' face. It sends a small rush through Peter, enough that he can't pretend that his own cock is still soft, but his own pleasure is secondary to how _wrecked_ Stiles looks.

Not even Stiles' little bitten-out curse is enough to spoil Peter's enjoyment. If anything, it only heightens it as he smirks and watches Stiles fall apart against his will. It's a _thrilling_ , frankly beautiful sight. Peter doubts he'll soon forget the look of fury and pleasure in Stiles' eyes. 

"Guilty as charged," Peter says smoothly, letting his eyes glint ice blue as he keeps working Stiles' dick through his boxers. 

"But you already knew that. In fact, you _revel_ in it. You were the one who came to see me here, Stiles," Peter gives Stiles' pulsing dick a slightly harder squeeze, thumb rubbing pointedly over where the fabric is dampest - over where Stiles' slit must be. 

"You knew what you wanted when you got here."

* * *

Stiles had lasted longer out in the preserve... right? Maybe. Stiles had also been turned on and teased a lot more. He'd needed to get off so he could relieve himself - which Peter decided to take a stake in and complicate the whole process. Gee, maybe a pattern? 

It feels good, sure, because orgasms are _supposed_ to feel good, but Stiles didn't want to come. Not like this, not here, not so quick--

But Peter apparently hadn't given a shit what he'd wanted, so now Stiles is shuddering with the pleasurable aftershocks of Peter's hand rubbing him off. Peter's body doesn't move, Stiles remaining pinned. His face heats as Peter watches him - just openly looking at him with a smirk that's just so blatant and unapologetic. And really that just proves Stiles' point that Peter _is_ an asshole.

Glaring, Stiles exhales shakily as Peter replies, all smarmy and all-too pleased with himself. His glare doesn't last long because Peter's hand _keeps_ touching him and now that he's come, it's quickly moving into oversensitive territory. When a thumb purposely brushes against the tip of his cock - boxers wet and sticky - Stiles grimaces. When Peter's words process, the urge to get the fuck away rears its head because this _isn't_ what he wanted when he got here.

"What the _fu_ \-- stop touching me!" Stiles squawks back. His hands tearing away from underneath Peter's shirt to try and push at Peter's chest. 

* * *

Peter is painfully pleased with himself. Why shouldn't he be? Given how desperately Stiles had come, and given the scent of humiliated satisfaction all but permeating the air, why wouldn't he be this indulgent? Why wouldn't he push? Why wouldn't he _keep_ antagonizing Stiles when it's so clear to him now that Stiles seems to like it? 

Because he does. Oh, Stiles is furious. He's embarrassed, sated physically but not mentally, and likely bordering on uncomfortable with every passing second, but Stiles does like this. He'd intentionally driven himself to a seedy motel on nothing but Peter's word, and as much as Stiles likely wants to protest on principle at this point, actions do speak louder than words.

And _oh,_ isn't the way that Stiles' body suddenly tenses when Peter rubs at his slit through his boxers tempting? He listens to Stiles' pulse, listens to the way it skips and trips as over-sensitivity likely begins to come into play, and suddenly Peter can't help but wonder...

Stiles' protest _does_ make him genuinely consider stopping, because he'd already got what he'd wanted. But who's to say that he doesn't want more? Especially after that little taste of discomfort?

Without warning, and seemingly ignoring Stiles' attempt to shove him away, Peter slides his hand up. For a split second, he does leave Stiles' softening cock alone. Except it doesn't stay that way. 

Instead, impulse takes hold and Peter reaches up to the hem of Stiles' jeans and boxers, shoving both down just past Stiles' ass. It's enough to let Stiles' flushed, damp, softening cock show, and it means that when Peter cups Stiles' dick in his hand and wipes the dampness of his come away from his slit with one thumb, Peter can see it plainly.

"I think you can take this," Peter says almost conversationally, sliding his other hand up to tickle the hollow of Stiles' throat with his fingertips. There are no claws present, but there could be. It's not a threat, though. It's a temptation. 

"And I think you got _exactly_ what you wanted. After all, watching you like that? Hearing the way your pulse raced when I pinned you here... It was _very_ tempting."

And, just to add the final nail to the coffin, Peter nudges his own hips forward just enough so that Stiles will be able to feel his half-hard cock against his hip. Proof that Peter does actually enjoy Stiles like this after all.

* * *

Stiles knows what he'd wanted when he decided to drive out here, and it wasn't _this_ , okay. It wasn't. Just because he happens to like certain things - his _body_ enjoying certain things - doesn't mean that's what he wanted to happen.

Because he'd legitimately wanted to blow Peter and prove that he's...

He's what? Not just someone Peter can push around and do whatever with? Too bad that's exactly what's happened.

 _Happening_. 

Because Stiles can't push Peter off and get him to stop, and the fuzzy buzz of sudden orgasm is making Stiles feel a little stupid and uncoordinated, but he's still aware of how ineffectual his piddly human strength is, and he's got no wolfsbane on him. He can't push Peter away.

He _should_ be worried. 

But he's not.

He's embarrassed that he got off like this, so quick 'n easy like the teenager he thought he wasn't any longer. Stiles is pissed that Peter wouldn't - _won't_ \- listen to him, and he's certain that there's some huge ass red flag about consent, but he's not thinking about that right now.

There's a brief moment where Peter relents, his hand pulling away, and Stiles almost slumps in relief. Almost. What happens instead is: Stiles tenses in shock, making an undignified but totally justified sound of surprise as Peter rudely yanks down his boxers and jeans. Now his ass - his bare ass - is against the wall.

Somehow that's hardly the worst thing, however, because his wet and sticky cock is also exposed, and while Stiles had wanted direct contact, this is another one of those: _not like this_ cases. 

Glancing down, he sees his own soft and understandably smaller dick in Peter's hand again. Fuck. For some reason embarrassment flares because he's soft, he came, his cock isn't _supposed_ to be played with anymore. You come, clean up, then put it away. That's what's normal.

He winces as Peter's thumb swipes across his slit - directly. It's a frisson of sensitivity lancing through him and making him squirm. Stiles' head jolts up as soon as Peter talks and those fingertips dancing along his throat makes Stiles think of Peter's fingers siding up and wrapping around-- and nope, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to explore where that's going.

Once more, just to show that he's not willing, Stiles tries to push at Peter, ignoring that distracting hardness pressing against his hip. Peter being hard shouldn't matter... but it kind of does.

"Big deal, I like you pinning me against things," Stiles retorts. "It's done. You made me come. So, you can let me go and stop, you know..." Big brown eyes dart down between them. The implication is clear.

* * *

Oh, Peter knows that at any point, Stiles could call it quits. He knows that Stiles could threaten Peter with something that he'd actually care about, which he hasn't yet. Thus far, all of Stiles' threats have been ineffectual. He could threaten to tell Scott, or Derek, could threaten to track down someone who could feasibly do something about this, like Argent. Not that he will. 

Stiles _likes_ this. Psychologically, Peter thinks it makes perfect sense, not that he's about to point it out. Stiles had essentially been taken over without his consent, once, and the incident had left a scar on his psyche. Finding a different way to approach ideas of having control taken away from him is healthy.

Not that that's _entirely_ why Peter's doing this. He's no saint. He's doing this because he wants to, because Stiles is attracted to him, because Stiles keeps coming back despite all of the reasons why he shouldn't, and because every single response that Stiles gives is like a rush in Peter's mind.

This is no different. Oh, he still tries to push back, still tries to protest weakly, but as Peter looks down and glances almost admiringly at the way that Stiles' cock softens and rests almost innocently in the palm of his hand, he doesn't miss the sudden flood of embarrassment between them. He doesn't miss the way that Stiles' cheeks flush, or the way that that flush creeps down his neck. Even Stiles' cockhead gets a little rosier, and Peter swipes his thumb over it, petting the slick softness because he _knows_ this is something that goes against every established norm.

That tickle of power floods him all over again, hot and thrilling and tempting. Stiles' soft cock and his clear protests only have Peter's resolve redoubling.

"Mmm... _no_ , I don't think so," Peter muses, still keeping Stiles in place not only with his hand, but with the weight of his body. Peter cups Stiles' balls, letting them rest with his cock in the palm of Peter's hand. 

"You're young. I think you could go again. And I _must_ say... I'm quite taken by how... _cute_ your cock looks when it's soft like this. Pretty, pink, messy... I bet if I got onto my knees and cleaned you up with my tongue, I could make you _howl."_


	4. Pinned against a motel wall Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new chapter. Enjoy! 🎉

* * *

* * *

Peter is, unequivocally, some supreme deviant pervert and Stiles just happens to be the poor fly that unfortunately flew his dumbass self into Peter's web. At least, that's what a part of his brain is trying to valiantly insist because he doesn't necessarily _want_ to take any responsibility for getting himself into this particular pesky predicament where Peter's getting his pervert on. 

It doesn't even enter Stiles' mind to threaten Peter, because threatening Peter would involve him telling Scott or Derek, and that's just a huge nope, no way. Stiles can't imagine himself having to explain any of this to either one of them, especially as they could figure out if he was lying, and maybe Derek wouldn't ask questions, but Scott totally would, but telling Derek that his uncle has been molesterbating him isn't exactly much easier. And Stiles doesn't want anyone to know about the pissing and the preserve and the stairwell and the fact that he _willingly_ drove to a motel room. The list is long and incriminating.

But Peter's being weird and Stiles isn't even sure it's like normal-perverted or what, or if there's even a normal-perverted at all. When Peter looks down, Stiles' stomach gives a nervous _whoop_ because Peter is being so fucking obvious that all Stiles can do is also look down too. 

And he sees his spent cock being treated as if it's _delicate_ or something, Peter's thumb petting over the soft sticky tip. It's such a small action, but his dick is still sensitive and he doesn't want attention like this.

It shouldn't be any surprise that Peter fucking tells him _no_. And while it's true that Stiles is young and he could go again, he still needs a break, just a little time out for the 'ole weiner to calm down. Having his balls held too isn't any better, but it's at least not Peter playing with the head of his cock. 

Any thought is obliterated as Peter continues and calls his dick _cute_. 

Indignation sparks, Stiles' mouth opening to tell Peter to shut the fuck up, but Peter doesn't stop there. Oh, no, why would he? _Pretty, pink, messy_. More embarrassing sentiments that should make everything fizzle away, but don't somehow.

Stiles shudders, his mind pissed off that Peter's being so weird and difficult, but his body so in tune to every point of contact between them, and all it wants is more. More Peter, more skin against skin, more touching. But being pissed off takes a backseat when Stiles hears Peter talk of getting to his knees and using his tongue to clean him up, that'd he _howl--_

Stiles swallows as his cock gives a noticeable twitch. Eyes wide, he stares at Peter.

"Only if you take off your jacket and shirt," is what comes out of his mouth. 

Which is dumb, because Stiles shouldn't be encouraging this at all. Furthermore, if he were to try and make any sort of deal, he should ask for more than Peter shirtless, but Stiles totally doesn't have his wits about him, and he doesn't want to try and go for any sort of redo.

* * *

Traditionally, Peter doesn't like the taste of come. It's not something he'll actively seek out, and while he _does_ give excellent head, he rarely swallows unless he's trying to prove a point. It's a little different when it comes to women, but generally speaking he'll only do this when he's trying to make himself memorable, or when his ego could use a boost.

The fact that he's considering it _now_ should be telling, but he's not quite done with this game yet. Stiles is unpredictable, but he's spirited. There's a fire in his eyes, and as in over his head as he is, and as much as he protests, the heat in his eyes still burns brighter when Peter threatens what he does. Peter feels the telltale twitch of Stiles' spent cock in his hand, and when Peter glances back up at him, he can see wide-eyed excitement-unease glittering in Stiles' eyes.

Peter is expecting Stiles to protest again, to fight back again. But that isn't what happens. Just like that, Stiles makes him a _counter-offer_ and Peter's eyebrows lift in delight. A smirk tugs at his lips as he appraises Stiles curiously, because Stiles never ceases to surprise him...

"A bargaining man," Peter drawls, tone teasing and satisfied, "I _like_ that. Very well. Condition accepted."

And, though it does entail taking his hand off of Stiles' cock - and off of his chest - Peter is confident that Stiles will stay put. He leans back just enough to shrug out of his jacket, the heavy leather sliding down his arms with the faint metallic clinking from the zipper. Peter tosses it back on the motel bed and - casting Stiles another look, Peter reaches down and pulls his shirt up and over his head.

He's not fast about it, though. He lets the fabric catch briefly on his biceps, lets it trail up over his abdomen a little slower, because what harm is there in giving a bit of a show? Peter pulls his shirt off and tosses it back on his jacket, and then - still making eye contact - he sinks down onto his knees.

One hand comes to Stiles' hip to pin him in place, just in case. The other moves back up to lift Stiles' soft cock away from his body with one finger. Then, still smirking, Peter leans in and presses a wet kiss to Stiles' cockhead. Never let it be said that he's not a man of his word.

* * *

Did Stiles really just try and bargain with Peter? That if Peter took off his jacket and shirt, Stiles would then "let him" do the whole-- _fuck,_ did Peter really say he'd drop to his knees, clean him off and make him _howl?_ Yeah, that part is messed up, but what takes the cake is the fact that Stiles wouldn't be _letting_ Peter do anything because he can't stop Peter anyway.

It's freakin' ridiculous.

All things considered, wanting Peter shirtless is kind of tame, but Stiles hasn't exactly seen Peter's bare torso before, so it's a start. Given that Peter's all buff-hot-stuff and Stiles has only been able to appreciate that from afar or through layers, it makes sense that he'd ask Peter for this - at least that's what he tells himself.

It's no real surprise that Peter looks all amused by what he's offered up in return. Stiles doesn't feel like much of a _bargaining man,_ he feels more like an idiot grasping at straws, but Peter _likes_ what he's done. And Stiles might like that. Which is probably the most fucked up thing about everything here - that he genuinely likes Peter liking things about him. And Stiles shouldn't, he totally shouldn't.

Peter's hands pull away - away from his cock, off of his chest, and Stiles is no longer pinned. He could move, but where would he go? Just 'cuz he's embarrassed and caught off guard by things doesn't mean he really wants to leave. Besides, Peter leans back and slips off the chic leather jacket which means Stiles is getting what he wants. 

Stiles unabashedly watches - stares, ogles even - as Peter works on removing his shirt. Peter doesn't give him like a cheesy stripper show, but he doesn't rush it either, and _damn:_ what's revealed to him is delicious abs, defined pecs, broad shoulders, all stuff Stiles was aware of, but now he gets the complete visual.

The ogling is cut short because Peter's eyes are glued on him and all Stiles can do is watch as Peter actually lowers himself to his knees. Stiles freezes. Peter's hand comes to his hip, reaffirming the whole, 'you're still pinned' which makes Stiles bite his lip to try and muffle the surprised-pleased sound he makes. That sound turns into a sharper gasp when Peter's other hand is back on his cock and the tip of his dick is _kissed._

" _Christ_ ," Stiles curses, restless energy vibrating through his body, because it's _still_ Peter on his knees and his mouth near his unfortunately spent dick. Mentally, this is way, way hot. Fingers fidgeting at his sides, Stiles is unsure if he wants to go for touching Peter right now. He sort of doesn't want to move, doesn't want to risk missing anything, so he doesn't for now.

"You look really douchebag-pleased with yourself," Stiles points out, trying to regain some composure by showing attitude. "Maybe I'm just easy and you happen to be available and decent looking." 

* * *

How is Peter ever supposed to resist this? Not that he has any plans on trying to; he's no saint and he's never attempted to argue to the contrary. Saints, as far as Peter is concerned, are boring. They only reach infamy _after_ they're dead, and while technically Peter could claim something similar, there's nothing fun or mischievous about them. Hard pass.

Besides, were he a saint, he couldn't properly appreciate what happens to be laid out for him, here. Stiles looks delicious. He looks good enough to eat, and Peter intends to take more than just a few samples. How could he do anything else when Stiles makes that small, bitten-back sound of pleasure once Peter moves to pin him again? Stiles might believe that he'd been subtle, but Peter had still heard it. He files it away; Stiles _really_ likes being pinned in place.

The taste of Stiles' come against Peter's lips isn't entirely pleasant, but the satisfaction that he gains from Stiles' desperation more than makes up for it. Stiles' cock is soft and sensitive, the skin hot even against Peter's lips. It's as thrilling to him as it had been to watch the clear hunger in Stiles' eyes when he'd half-stripped down. Even now, looking up at Stiles, Peter can still see that hunger in his eyes. It's more than satisfying, and it is _particularly_ amusing when Stiles tries to make his next few comments.

_Decent-looking_. Peter fights back the urge to scoff. Instead, he smirks up at Stiles and arches an eyebrow, keeping his lips close to Stiles' cock. Just because.

"Oh, I _am_ douchebag-pleased with myself," Peter reassures honestly. "Still, while you're easy for _me_ , I doubt that's the case with everyone. I remember how difficult it was to get you to orgasm back at the preserve. Though..." 

Peter glances at Stiles' cock. "That's not really the case anymore, is it?"

He doesn't dignify the 'decent-looking' quip with a response. Peter can scent Stiles' attraction plain as day. But, that said, it doesn't stop him from leaning in and taking the sensitive head of Stiles' cock into his mouth, letting the weight of it rest against his tongue as he gives a small suck of reprimand. 

_Decent-looking_ , indeed...

* * *

It's not as if being _easy_ is considered to be a good or desirable thing, but wouldn't Stiles rather be easy than have to admit that Peter's rather skilled at blowing his mind by expertly playing with his body? Truthfully, Stiles knows that it doesn't really matter what he says or insists because Peter's the kind of arrogant prick who's completely confident and self-assured in a way that Stiles is honestly a little envious about. 

But what else is Stiles supposed to do or say in the situation he finds himself in? Peter _does_ look all smug and self-satisfied, and it's not as if it's some feat to get Stiles off, right? Given that Stiles has less chance and opportunity to get lucky, it makes complete sense that he might be more gung-go and fine, _easy_. He's just young and in his prime and has healthy sex drive.

Peter Hale is on his knees, in front of him, with more skin revealed than ever before, and his mouth has made contact with Stiles' cock. This situation would be phenomenal if it wasn't for the single fact that Stiles has _already_ gotten off and his cock is soft and sticky. Because people aren't supposed to get to their knees and give fake blowjobs. It's not normal. Okay, sure, a dick might start soft, but then it gets hard because it hasn't recently given its sperm-y blessing, but Stiles' dick already _has._ His skin and boxers are currently covered in that blessing.

A stupid eyebrow lifts in response to what Stiles has blurted out. Because Peter's goddamn mouth stays close to his cock, Stiles' lips purse, unsure of Peter's response.

It probably shouldn't come as any surprise to have Peter simply agree with his assessment - that he _is_ douchebag-pleased with himself. Somehow the distinction between Stiles just being generally easy and being easy _for Peter,_ irks Stiles. His eyes narrow as Peter mentions that it was difficult for him to come while they were in the preserve which totally isn't fair because Stiles had to take a leak, and Peter was being King of the Jerks!

Whatever Stiles was going to say immediately gets quashed when Peter's lips part and he takes in his tip and sucks. 

It's a pang of sensitivity and arousal that has Stiles hissing and trying to pull back, but he can't. Against the wall, there's nowhere he can go. With Peter's grip on him, Stiles is stuck. 

"Why couldn't you have done this before, you fucker," Stiles grits out, his hands now fists at his sides. "Just can't be normal, nope."

* * *

Peter really isn't fond of the taste of come on his tongue, but it's the principle of the matter that he's focused on. Yes, the taste might not be his favorite thing, but watching the way that Stiles' hips immediately twitch at the sensitivity? Watching the way that his thighs tremble sharply, like he's torn between jerking away and thrusting forward? Oh, _that_ is more than worth it.

Peter suddenly wishes that he were filming this. Close as he is to Stiles' dick, he can't see his expression the way that he'd like to. Food for thought, perhaps something to think about later. Much later. When he doesn't have Stiles' warm, soft cock resting against his tongue, and the echo of Stiles' hiss of oversensitivity in his ears.

He watches Stiles' hands form into fists and he feels the way that Stiles' cock throbs between Peter's lips. He doubts that it'll be long before Stiles gets hard again, but it's going to be uncomfortable and too-sensitive. It's going to be a sensation that Stiles likely won't know whether he wants to push into or pull away from, and that sparks something hot low in Peter's stomach. It makes him much more amenable to this entire situation.

But Stiles' not-question? Oh, that needs an answer. Peter pulls away with a slow, harder suck, just for the wet sound that results from it.

"Uh-uh, no. As _I_ recall, you wanted to do this yourself, first. Something about a benchmark and insecurity that I might be a, 'professional cock sucker'." Peter leans in again, cupping Stiles' cock in his hand as he licks a smear of come from the side of his dick. 

"As far as I can tell, you did this to yourself. Why? You don't like it?"

Peter can't even pretend to hide his smirk as he leans back in and sucks Stiles' cock into his mouth again. He plays with its softness, lapping and sucking languidly, just to further prove that Stiles had gotten himself into this.

* * *

This would be completely different if Stiles hadn't already gotten off. Like, if Peter did this two minutes ago? If Peter ripped down his boxers and jeans before getting down to his knees and got his mouth all over Stiles' cock? Stiles wouldn't be freaking out because he'd be hard and super into that. The prospect of Peter sucking him off is desirable, because from what Peter's said and done, it stands to reason that Peter's likely really good at it anyway. 

Not that it takes much. Wet tongue? Hot mouth? Sucking? Penises party for that. Stiles' dick would have loved it, but it's not so fucking great when your dick is all sensitive from just coming and he's soft. It's not _supposed_ to be this way. It's not normal. Stiles doesn't normally care about normal, but he does in this circumstance. People don't go around sucking or licking or kissing soft cocks. You just don't.

Unless you're apparently Peter Hale.

All Stiles can do is wince when Peter sucks hard on his cockhead before pulling away, the sound that follows almost a _pop._ It doesn't hurt-hurt, but it's not pleasurable in any sense of the word. 

The sass that Peter throws his way makes Stiles' fingers curl tighter, especially at the mention of insecurity - which is _completely_ understandable given the circumstance, but it's not as if Peter should mention it. _Most_ people would be considerate enough to not. The notion that _Stiles_ did this to himself is bullshit.

As Peter leans back in, Stiles is opening his mouth to refute Peter's claim, because _Peter's_ so so so the one who started this, but he's unable to make his counterargument. Peter's mouth gets busy, licking and sucking lazily, making Stiles' body quiver from the odd oversensitivity. Stiles pounds one fist against the wall, biting on his bottom lip as he tries to get some small amount of composure. 

If Peter's not gonna stop... Curiously, Stiles rolls his hips forward, pushing into Peter's mouth with a grunt. This isn't the blowjob he wanted, but that doesn't mean he can't try and enjoy _some_ part of it. 

* * *

This is something that Peter's going to do again if he gets the chance to. He's always enjoyed a measure of the extreme in his little dalliances. Often, 'extreme' is relative. For some, simple handcuffs are extreme, but for Stiles? Oh, Stiles can push it even further, because Stiles knows what extreme _really_ is. 

The issue is that Stiles knows what a different kind of extreme is. Stiles knows pain, knows mental anguish, knows the kind of extreme that toes the line between life and death. That kind of extreme, Peter has no interest in. But Stiles thankfully seems quite susceptible to _this_. Enough so that - with enough work - Stiles' past might not seem so impossible.

Not that that is why Peter's doing this now. It just so happens to be a happy coincidence.

The sound of Stiles' fist pounding the wall is loud and sudden, but Peter doesn't jump. Instead, he looks up at Stiles through his eyelashes, drinking in the tightness to his eyes and the clear discomfort-slash-overstimulation etched into every line of his posture. Against Peter's tongue, Stiles' cock throbs, but he doubts that it feels particularly good, but Stiles is still taking it. And with markedly less protest than before.

It's when Stiles suddenly rolls his hips forward that Peter lets out a small sound in the back of his throat. It's involuntary, because he hadn't expected Stiles to actually push _into_ the touch. Which is actually impressive, because not many people can actually surprise Peter.

Stiles just so happens to be one of them, apparently. And isn't _that_ interesting...

With a soft hum of genuine approval, Peter's lips pull into a small smirk. He glances up at Stiles and lets his eyes glint ice blue, and then he refocuses on the softness of Stiles' cock against his tongue. It takes no effort to draw back slowly, sucking his way off until just the head of Stiles' cock is between his lips. 

Which is how Peter keeps Stiles' cock as he licks over the slit, slow, mindful to keep the overstimulation to a level where Stiles might _not_ wind up punching him after. 

* * *

If he's being logical - not that that's very easy given the situation he's in - Stiles knows that Peter likes him pushing back. Showing attitude, showing spirit. Whatever Peter called it. Even so, that _isn't_ why Stiles is doing this now, why he's trying to thrust into Peter's mouth.

Which is a little awkward given that he's mostly soft now and it's not at all a difficult task for him to fit inside Peter's mouth, but that's totally beside the point. The point is that Stiles isn't going to simply be some passive bystander here. If Peter wants to be some freak, Stiles is coming along for the ride. All aboard, everyone.

Just because that's what Stiles is doing doesn't make it _easy,_ because it _is_ still sensitive. His insides feel hot and twisty, his knees jelly-like, but his hands are still fists by his side. It's so weird to have his dick in Peter's mouth but be soft, sensitive from getting off. His dick doesn't want the extra touch, but it's _Peter's_ mouth and mentally, the position that he's in is arousing.

Staring down, hips not pulling back, Stiles doesn't know how he feels about the fact that Peter can _still_ smirk while he's doing this. Suddenly it doesn't seem to matter as much when Peter's eyes flash werewolf blue before his tongue starts moving around. A grimace flashes over Stiles' features as Peter carefully maneuvers his cock back out, lips remaining wrapped around the tip.

His fists make contact with the wall again as Peter's carefully controlled tongue works itself against the slit, causing Stiles' thighs to shake.

"Dick licker," Stiles sputters out. Not that Peter will care, but Stiles _has_ to say something.

* * *

Whether Stiles is doing this to prove a point or because there's genuinely something masochistic buried somewhere deep in that clever little mind, Peter doesn't care. Not when Stiles' soft cock rests so pleasantly against his tongue, and not when Peter can _feel_ the throb of oversensitivity in Stiles' dick when he watches Stiles' fists strike back against the wall again. He's undoubtedly making enough noise to disturb anyone nearby, but that only pushes Peter further. 

A few rooms down, Peter can hear the soft sounds of moaning. There are people nearby, and if Stiles winds up punching the walls any louder, he'll likely wind up disturbing them, which is a thrilling thought. Given how flushed and jittery Stiles looks, Peter thinks he might agree.

Stiles' little comment is _almost_ enough to make Peter laugh. His lips half-tug into a smile of mirth, but that makes it difficult to accomplish his goals. Instead, chuckling throatily _in_ the back of his throat, Peter lets his eyes continue to glint their satisfaction up at Stiles as he lifts his hand and delicately cups Stiles' balls. He rolls them back and forth over his fingers, as though they're as much a toy for him to play with as Stiles' cock is. And isn't _that_ a delightful thought.

"Guilty, I suppose," Peter says after drawing off of Stiles' cock with a slick sound. He leans in, nosing at Stiles' soft, wet cock and presses a sucking kiss to the currently-loose skin along the side. It makes a nice visual, if he does say so himself. 

"And yet you're taking it well. All things considered, you might _not_ alert the people next door if you're careful."

And, though the couple is easily four doors down, Peter only sends Stiles a smirk before taking his cock back into his mouth. Soft, it's a simple mouthful, pleasant against his tongue. Enough so that he briefly wonders how Stiles' pulse might spike if Peter were to press his teeth there, but he's not so sure he'd be able to get away with _that_ one. 

* * *

Stiles may be aware that banging his fist against the wall isn't a great idea, but he can't help it. He's limited in the types of responses he can do, and staying still and quiet has never been an easy or natural thing for him. That being the case, stray thoughts float through Stiles' head like, what if Peter _made_ him be quiet? How would that be? The prospect of not being able to speak and give his not-so-eloquent commentary strikes Stiles as aggravating but...

There's a stupid _but_ , which is a running theme when Peter's involved. Peter's palm over his mouth to keep him quiet or to muffle sounds strikes Stiles as something hot. Which is confusing because only minutes ago Stiles was thinking that other people hearing them (him) was also hot. Sort of. 

It's honestly a little confusing to try and keep everything sorted out - what's hot and what's not - and it's entirely Peter's doing, because Stiles hasn't been able to take a few minutes of a breather and just calm the fuck down after his sudden orgasm that Peter _made_ him have. 

_Dick licker_ isn't much of an insult given what Peter's currently doing, but sometimes saying anything is better than nothing, and Stiles usually would rather remark than not. A warm hand playing with his balls is _almost_ a reprieve because his balls aren't overly sensitive at least. The sound that accompanies Peter pulling away from his cock is practically pornographic and exaggerated and Stiles' eyebrows furrow. 

The tip of his dick gets a bit of a break from the oral onslaught, but Stiles is still on high alert and for good reason too, as Peter's still mouthing and kissing along the side of his cock now. 

As soon as Peter's little comment comes about him maybe _not_ alerting the motel's other occupants, Stiles knows what he's going to say. He doesn't necessarily want to say it, but it's like the course has been locked in. He figures this is another thing that'll get added to the growing 'fucked up' list he's keeping in his head.

"Why don't you _make me_ be quiet?" His voice is tight, tension thrumming through his body as Peter continues to easily lavishes attention on his soft cock. One of Peter's hands _could_ feasibly reach up and cover his mouth, and Stiles thinks he might actually _really_ be into that happening.

* * *

To be fair, Peter doesn't initially notice that Stiles' scent is beginning to thicken again. Given all the come that Peter had taken care to clean up, it's still superimposed on his senses. Frankly, he doubts that anyone could blame him for missing the obvious, particularly when focusing on everything else that Stiles is doing is much more satisfying. Still, it's a feast for the senses to look up at Stiles and watch him slowly begin to crack around the edges. Peter can see the hunger there, can see the stimulation and the desperation, and it's thrilling.

Except, when he leans back in to take Stiles' soft cock back into his mouth, he catches a tension that suddenly slips through Stiles' body. It's subtle; if Peter weren't touching him, he likely wouldn't have noticed. Except then Stiles' pulse picks up speed, suggesting anxiety of sorts, and Peter glances up at him curiously, eyes glinting in the room.

Which is when Stiles issues his challenge. Stiles tells Peter to _make him_ be quiet, and there's such a skip of his pulse then that Peter can't help the slow, telling smirk that spreads out over his lips after he draws back again to look up at Stiles thoughtfully. Now he can feel the tension, can scent the slowly-growing arousal, and interest sparks behind Peter's eyes. 

"Well, well," he muses, more to himself, voice lower and _extremely_ satisfied. "Look at who's becoming a little _deviant_. I'm impressed. I wouldn't have expected this from you. Not that I should be surprised, what with how this started in the preserve..."

Peter lets himself trail off, lets the moment stand for a few long seconds. Then, just as Stiles draws in a breath, Peter moves.

He's quick and sure as one of his hands snaps up. Without preamble, Peter presses his palm firmly over Stiles' mouth, hard enough to _almost_ hurt, and definitely hard enough to keep him quiet. Peter curls his fingers, gripping just enough to let Stiles know that he has _no_ plans of moving said hand. And, before he can really come to terms with it, Peter ducks his head back down and takes Stiles' cock back into his mouth, sucking immediately, much harder than he had before. 

After all... he _does_ need to test to make _sure_ that Stiles' voice is properly muffled, now doesn't he? That means he needs to do something that would ordinarily make Stiles very, _very_ loud.

* * *

Oh yeah, Stiles' mental list of 'fucked up things' is growing considerably longer. Each time he gets together with you-know-who, something new is added, usually a few somethings - ya know, plural, more than one. While sexual exploration is generally a good thing - a _normal_ expected youthful pursuit - Stiles feels like he's going from zero to sixty and maybe sixty is too fast.

Not that he _wants_ to slow down or stop, however, because Stiles sure as hell doesn't want that. He may be less experienced, but that doesn't mean he can't handle it because he can handle it. He _is_ handling it. 

Apparently egging Peter on to cover his mouth and muffle sounds is handling it.

Maybe Peter's the one who's technically in control. Peter's the one who can push him against things and hold him there, but Stiles _isn't_ helpless. He's not passive. He's still got his mind and his mouth and putting those to good use is what Stiles excels at - yep. So, taunting and verbally pushing back is the one thing that Stiles can and _does_ do. 

If the appraising look Peter gives him is any indication, he happens to like Stiles' challenge. When Peter pulls away, the air is cool on his dick because of Peter's spit and how hot his mouth was - is - and Stiles has had that mouth on him, but not how he wanted it. 

Peter's voice, a perfect low-rumble, prickles along Stiles' skin like velvet claws and _fuck_ if he isn't curious about how it'd feel to have Peter's claws lightly drag over his naked body--

Caught up in the twisting intensity, Stiles doesn't even fight against the accusation that he's becoming a so-called little deviant (besides, it's true). 

His response doesn't seem to matter, because Peter's hand flies up, warm palm clamped over his mouth. Heart racing in his chest, Stiles' blinks rapidly as he tries to not get winded by the _whoop_ of arousal that hits him at this current position. Arousal gets way way way complicated when Peter's mouth is back on his cock. 

Whatever sound Stiles _would_ have made is quite efficiently garbled by Peter's hand, but that doesn't stop Stiles from trying. Because it _almost_ hurts - how hard Peter is sucking on him - and it's definitely sensitive. Wincing but not wanting to stop surprising Peter, Stiles' hands come to Peter's hair, fingers gripping tight as he rocks his hips forward because despite having gotten off, all of this is still hot.

* * *

If Peter is being perfectly honest, Stiles' determination to see this through is admirable. Peter has had a few partners in the past, and while not all of them had been up for this little endeavor, those who had, hadn't been able to take it for long. Not like Stiles. 

Stiles, who tenses and practically lights up like a live wire when Peter begins to suck anew. Stiles, who stiffens against him and jolts even as his scent thickens and spikes with arousal. Stiles, who muffles a shout against Peter's hand, allowing him to feel the vibration of a sound cut off too short, and the very feel of it against his palm is enough to make Peter's jeans feel a little tighter. 

It's a visceral feeling, something startlingly intense, because they've just proven that Stiles _can't_ scream for help. Not like this. It's thrilling.

Then it's thrilling in a different way, because Stiles' hands both shoot down and tangle like roots in Peter's hair. It's sudden enough that it surprises him, perhaps even more than how surprised he is when Stiles jerks his hips _forward_ , rolling each touch into the over-sensitive heat and suction of Peter's mouth.

It's when Stiles' fingers grip that Peter lets out a low groan in the back of his throat. He's always appreciated a little roughness in bed, especially from an adventurous partner. Not that Stiles could have known that, but it _is_ enough to make Peter redouble his efforts, sucking and hollowing his cheeks as he draws back. Stiles' soft dick is well and truly flushed with sensitivity, deep pink, and despite the sensitivity, Peter doubts that Stiles will stay soft for long. Not with how aroused he smells. Not given his age.

"Now _that's_ what I like to hear," Peter taunts, teasing as he keeps muffling Stiles' sounds. 

He leans back in without warning, because Stiles has already had plenty of it. So, Stiles shouldn't be surprised when Peter nudges his dick up with his nose and sucks a mark on slightly-less-sensitive skin. Peter doubts that Stiles has ever had a _hickey_ near his dick before, but as he leans back in and takes Stiles' cock back into his mouth, sucking and licking pointedly at the slit of Stiles' dick, he doubts that Stiles will mind all _that_ much.

And if he does? It's not like anyone will hear him.

* * *

It hasn't actually sunk in that Stiles can't call for help if anything were to go badly. Even out in the preserve, pinned to a tree and needing to piss, the idea of screaming for help was totally a nope. Sure, a lot of his reasoning was because Stiles didn't want to have to explain himself, but maybe some of it is because, on some level, he's not expecting Peter to completely fuck him up.

Logically, if anything were to happen to him, Scott or Derek wouldn't stand for it, but that's only if they know or if it was bad enough (and Peter's definitely able to make it bad enough). But still, Stiles doesn't really feel afraid of Peter and maybe that's stupid, but it is what it is. 

Maybe his mouth is covered, but he's able to breathe through his nose. It's still amusing that he's somehow into being noisy and risk getting caught, but he's also digging the whole hand-over-mouth-thing that Peter's doing. 

Because _he_ challenged Peter to and the fact that Peter's doing it? It makes something in Stiles' stomach squirm, arousal trying to overpower his damn refractory period. Touching Peter's hair shouldn't be a big deal, but somehow it is. It's soft and silky, probably the nicest hair Stiles has felt, and for a quick second Stiles wonders what kind of shampoo and conditioner Peter uses, but no, who the hell cares about that?

Under Peter's relentless mouth and tongue, Stiles trembles, muscles tensing as he tries to not flinch away from the oversensitivity. He barely processes Peter's little taunt, toes curling in his sneakers, his body wired. Stiles doesn't know if the break that Peter gives him is good, because the break is a jolt from Peter sucking a dumb hickey on him and near his dick. 

When Peter gets his mouth back on Stiles' cock, a muffled moan follows. Oh. Shit. He's getting hard again. Stiles' eyelids close as he yanks on Peter's hair, hips jutting forward, insistent. He still wants his blowjob.

* * *

One of the supposed upsides to being what he is, is that Peter still heals quickly. His jaw isn't so much getting sore as it is getting tired, but all it takes is small breaks like the one he'd used to suck a hickey into Stiles' skin for the ache to vanish. Theoretically, assuming he didn't wind up getting bored, Peter _could_ feasibly do this all night, but he doubts that even Stiles could make that length of time engaging and enjoyable.

Though, if anyone were going to do it...

Already, Stiles' cock flushed and soft against Peter's tongue, he's beginning to realize that Stiles could potentially become an addiction before long. He's bold and daring, and despite every reason that he shouldn't trust Peter anywhere _near_ his most sensitive places, not only does he trust him, he _welcomes_ him. He allows Peter to cut off his ability to say _no_ , he pulls him in close, and Stiles is beautifully insistent and equal parts greedy and desperate. It's an unapologetic demand and Peter's into it.

Still, all it takes is the realization in one split second that Stiles' dick is suddenly less malleable against his tongue for something victorious to spark in his chest. Peter tests him, sucking differently, and when he feels Stiles' cock plumping up against his tongue, hardening under every suck, Peter's eyes glint bright blue in satisfaction.

To Peter's surprise, Stiles doesn't shove him away. To his _immense_ surprise, when Stiles seems to realize that he's getting hard again, he moans and then grips Peter's hair even tighter and _yanks_ him closer as he jerks his hips. It's decidedly impolite in most circles, and had Stiles been fully hard, Peter suspects that even he would have briefly choked, but there's something about the complete abandon and hedonism that only makes Peter's eyes glint brighter.

He decides against retribution, choosing instead to delight in indulgence. Opening his mouth a little wider, adjusting the way he's been sucking, Peter throws his focus into curling his tongue around Stiles' stiffening dick and hollowing his cheeks. 

Now that he's got a purchase, he wastes no time in _really_ sucking. Not once does he detangle Stiles' fingers from his hair, or stop Stiles from jerking his hips. Instead, Peter reaffirms his grip on Stiles' mouth, palm hot and feeling each puff of breath as he muffles Stiles' sounds. He idly wonders whether or not he can still keep Stiles muffled while he's coming hot down Peter's throat.

* * *

It's not giving in, Stiles pointedly tells himself. It's taking what he wants... and maybe it's not _how_ he wanted it done or where, but Peter Hale's mouth _is_ on his dick - that's a major win. And his dick is no longer suffering in the throes of oversensitivity. That's the big thing here. It also doesn't matter that Peter was right - that he could get hard again. Peter's some prissy weird sexual deviant and Stiles is only a junior member of that club, but he's quickly being thrown through some crazy initiation. 

Three. There's been three incidents with Peter thus far. Actually, Stiles is currently going through the third one now. He's living it. Naked butt against this dumb motel wall, his fingers gripping Peter's soft hair, and now he's sort of familiar with the heat and wetness of Peter's mouth.

Because Peter _first_ licked him clean of his own come, mouthed at him while he was freakin' soft, teasing and torturing him... but apparently it's been long enough that his dick feels like it can rise to the occasion. 

So, of course Stiles thrusts forward, Peter's mouth now a very welcome place that Stiles wants to experience. Peter doesn't disappoint him either, sucking harder and welcoming his cock that's filling out again. Peter's hand against his mouth is almost steadying, grounding in a way. Stiles doesn't try and break free or stop it, but he does moan enthusiastically, his own muffled sounds somehow a turn on. Whatever.

He continues gripping onto Peter's hair tightly, hips rolling to feel Peter's cheeks better. Quickly breathing through his nose, Stiles tries to relax into this blowjob - this far-more-normal blowjob - but it's still difficult because, unfortunately, Peter happens to be _really_ good with his damn mouth.

* * *

And to think that Stiles had initially protested the idea of Peter getting on his knees for him. Not that Peter can fully blame Stiles for being uncertain; this _does_ set the bar high, but Peter isn't looking to compare right now. He's looking to give Stiles an experience that he won't soon forget. He's looking to push Stiles' boundaries, to test him, and to learn what makes that clever little mind tick.

Having his mouth covered affects Stiles far more than he likely knows. Peter files it all away, satisfied even as Stiles rolls his hips, damning traditional blowjob etiquette. Not that Peter minds. _His_ focus is on the way that Stiles sounds, the way that his dick steadily fills out and sits heavy on Peter's tongue, and the tight curl of Stiles' fingers in his hair. 

There's finesse that Stiles lacks, but the thought of being able to teach him, or to model blowjobs to him well enough that Stiles draws on it as inspiration later? It's thrilling, as is every second of the way that Stiles looks when Peter glances up at him.

He looks like he'll be thoroughly wrecked in minutes, face flushed, eyes dark, hair a mess, and expression pinched in desperation. Peter watches, eyes narrowed in consideration. He sucks, bobbing his head, working his tongue over Stiles' cock, and he _learns_. He watches and learns _what_ makes Stiles' breath hitch. He learns what Stiles does when he sucks hard, when he teases, and when the head of Stiles' cock rubs along the inside of his cheek.

He seems to _really_ like that one. Possibly the texture. Whatever the reason, Peter tilts his head and lets Stiles' dick rub against his cheek on every thrust. Never let it be said that Peter _isn't_ a giving partner. At least... when it suits him. 

* * *

Right now Stiles isn't thinking about blowjob etiquette or Peter's jaw possibly being sore from having to be open - maybe even his knees because Peter _is_ older, and older men usually have sore knees - like his dad does - but maybe it's different for werewolves--

Anyway, Stiles is fully caught up in the moment, a puny little fly caught in Peter's web, but instead of getting his insect-head chomped off, Stiles is _getting head_. Delicious, hot wet suction and it's _chef's kiss._ Given that two minutes ago it was uncomfortable and weird, Stiles thinks it makes sense that he'd be enthusiastically into it now. 

It's oral sex and it feels great and maybe being pinned in a skeevy motel room isn't necessarily what he'd go for, but Peter _did_ rent and pay for it.

For him.

To also be a perverted asshole because Peter's definitely that, but this is like a sex-date.

So technically, Peter paid money - granted not all that much - but it's still money. More than the cost, it's the fact that Peter _planned this_. Peter picked some hole-in-the-wall place for privacy. Shit. Was this what Peter wanted to do? What else does Peter want to do? Are there other plans? Will they get to those other plans?

Stiles can't keep his eyes closed any longer, he wants to see. So, he does, and Peter must sense him trying to adjust his head to look down because he doesn't stop him. And it's mostly just Peter's head and hair that Stiles sees, but it's Peter's head between _his legs_ and Stiles can feel the length of his dick sliding in and out of Peter's lips, the tip of his cock brushing against Peter's cheek and sometimes even against the back of his throat. 

And Stiles can't stop, his hips greedily snapping forward and wanting _more_ , wanting it _deeper_ , wanting to fuck up Peter for fucking him up first. Stiles doesn't look away, his grip doesn't cease in Peter's hair, and somehow Peter just takes it - apparently some cock sucking professional (just as Stiles had suspected). 

He has no idea how long he lasts, but a jerk voice in the back of his head says it's not long.

But Stiles can't help it, Peter's mouth is this perfect welcoming wet paradise and all Stiles wants is to vacation in there forever.

Instead, he comes with a muffled whimper, body going taut as he unloads what little he has left into Peter's mouth.

* * *

There's no doubt that this isn't going to last long. Peter isn't expecting miracles, not after riling Stiles up for so long, and not after intentionally shoving him as close to his limit as he could possibly manage. Stiles isn't going to be able to hold back once he gets going, and while usually Peter heavily objects to greedy partners, he had facilitated it this time. He'd carefully plucked Stiles' control away from him, and handing it back bit by bit is only met with desperation.

Stiles does exactly what Peter had hoped he would. He's greedy with it. He's forceful, snapping his hips in ways that would have likely hurt Peter's jaw were he human. A part of him considers pulling back and issuing a warning, because if Stiles ever does that with a human partner, chances are that they won't thank him for that. Yet... Peter thinks better of it, a small curl of amusement tickling in the back of his mind, because the thought of intentionally ruining Stiles for all future encounters is _far_ more appealing than chiding him for being greedy. Peter prefers long-term consequences.

The moment that Peter feels Stiles struggling to look down at him is the moment he knows that Stiles is done for. Peter glances up at him calmly, shameless as he hollows his cheeks and pointedly angles his head in a way that makes for a better visual. He watches Stiles' pupils darken and widen, and he can scent the inevitable edge coming closer long before Stiles ever goes rigid against him.

But _oh_ , when that moment comes, Peter basks in it. Stiles is rough, fucking into his mouth, deep enough that Peter needs to swallow to avoid gagging, and that's all that it apparently takes. 

Stiles lets out a _delicious_ little whimper and Peter feels the powerful throb and twitch of his cock as he comes, spilling onto Peter's tongue. There's nowhere near as much come as there was the first time, but Stiles doesn't look like the pleasure is any less. He twitches and shudders, hips jerking, and Peter sucks him down, swallowing around the head of Stiles' cock because he can.

And, because he _knows_ that Stiles will like it, at the height of Stiles' orgasm, Peter intentionally shoves him back, pressing his head back against the wall and tightening his grip over Stiles' mouth. It's forceful, it's powerful, it's a reminder that Peter _owns_ this moment, and he sucks one final time, _hard,_ before slowly, carefully drawing back and off of Stiles' cock with a wet, slick sound.

"Something tells me you needed that," Peter says, his voice rough as he gives Stiles' face one final little squeeze before finally drawing his hand away so that Stiles can breathe. "I don't know why you made such a fuss."

* * *

Thoughts of previous ambitions and plans are literally sucked out of Stiles, fading to the background and marked as unimportant. How could anything be important in the face of well, getting to fuck Peter's face with his dick? Pretentious douchebag Peter with all his sassy comments and incessant need to complicate _everything._

This is some amazing victory that Stiles is experiencing right now. This is freakin' high that he wants to ride for as long as possible. Peter on his knees, Peter sucking and taking it - taking _him_ \- taking whatever he wants to do and does, and maybe it's all fucked up, but the fucked up parts don't seem to matter as much anymore. 

Not when Stiles is actually coming in Peter's mouth. Which is a vast improvement from coming in his own boxers and all over himself. Really. Come on clothes is _so_ not cool. As if Peter needs to prove that he's still in control, Peter pushes Stiles' head back harder, the hand covering his mouth tighter, almost to the level of discomfort, but it never quite gets there.

But it does add some element to his orgasm - maybe it's danger, maybe it's not. Maybe it doesn't matter.

Pleasure quiets, Stiles' eyes a little wet when Peter finally pulls off. His cock no longer sticky, but saliva-slick. By now, the commentary is expected, and Stiles is fine with the first - that maybe he needed that - but it's the damn _fuss_ line that gets him, because _Peter_ is the one who's fussy! 

As soon as Peter's hand leaves his face, Stiles takes a few deeper breaths through his mouth before glaring down at Peter. 

"Excuse me?" Stiles starts, his hands pulling away from Peter's hair lest he try and throttle Peter's head. " _You're_ the one doing everything weird and wrong."

* * *

Peter has often found that he can learn a lot about someone while they're recovering from orgasm. Some slump down, others crave contact, and some insist on distance. Whatever the reaction is, it's often involuntary, driven by nothing but a mindless pleasure and the need to recover. 

Peter has seen Stiles recovering a few times now, and more and more, he's finding that he _likes_ Stiles. As, while Stiles sometimes seems drawn to the idea of comfort or contact, he's just as likely to immediately, breathlessly shoot small barbed comments right back at Peter, effectively sparring with his sarcasm. It's amusing to say the least, and as Stiles' fingers shakily leave Peter's hair, he smirks up at Stiles, inwardly charmed by Stiles' rebuttal.

In one fluid movement, Peter rises back onto his feet. He'd practiced it in his youth and it had earned him a fair few dazed looks of admiration, and he expects nothing less now. Stiles' come is a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, not particularly pleasant, but it still tastes like _power_. 

"Not _everything_ ," Peter says simply, glancing down pointedly at Stiles' softening cock. He reaches a hand out and delicately cups the heat and weight of him, though gently. He _could_ play with Stiles' sensitivity again, but he doubts that Stiles would stand it a second time. 

"I daresay you've never come like _that_ before. Never explored your limits quite so blatantly. Did you not enjoy it?"

Peter asks the question like he's curious, but there's a lazy, satisfied glint in his eyes that suggests that he already knows that Stiles had _loved_ it. 

* * *

While Peter may be able to analyze his 'coming down from orgasm' behavior, Stiles' mind is still spinning like a top. Round and round it goes. While the frenzied urgency of fucking Peter's mouth until splooging is gone, this is still _a lot._ From a handjob ending with his boxers sticky to Peter flying his freak flag as he sucked on his soft cock, Stiles is trying to come to grips with everything. With Peter willingly going to his knees and licking and kissing his cock as if it was something _precious,_ to Peter allowing him to - probably rather rudely - fuck his mouth. Yeah, Stiles did that _and_ he came in Peter's mouth too. Peter'snow thoroughly tasted his come, like he could probably write observational details about it. 

And then this room - this _shitty motel room_ rented for debauchery - and Peter's weirdness. Off-balance. Yeah, that's a good word for what Stiles is feeling. 

But that doesn't stop him from trying to defend himself or verbally fight Peter because Stiles still has his principles! Not that Peter seems to care as he lazily gazes up, a customary smirk gracing his stupid hot face. Stiles' own face falters because Peter smoothly stands and the sudden height re-equalization is a little disorienting - so sue him, Stiles had _liked_ Peter being on his knees, it was a good look for the guy!

Technically, Peter's not done everything wrong - harhar - because Stiles has gotten off. He rolls his eyes at Peter's response, because _semantics_ can go to hell as far as Stiles is concerned because _he's_ talking about the big picture here and that's where Peter is weirding it all up. 

Stiles cringes when Peter's fingers touch him again - more a knee jerk response because Stiles is expecting Peter to dink around and ruin the moment. Boxers and pants around his ankles, Stiles is very much aware that he probably looks ridiculous up against this wall, but any sudden movements may not end well.

"You've only seen me come once before!" Stiles states haughtily, figuring that these two most recent ones could be summed up as a single event. Peter might be a skilled sex freak, but he's not some pro in the way of Stiles, not yet at least. 

"And I'm pretty sure you can still _taste_ my enjoyment, dumbass." His eyes fall to the clothes pile at Peter's feet - the leather jacket and shirt - and Stiles has the urge to demand that Peter strip too because fair's fair, but then what? What would be next?

Arguing is safer.

* * *

Peter has no plans for how he intends this to go. Has he ever had a plan when it comes to Stiles? Not since this little song and dance of theirs had begun, and likely quite a bit before that, too, when he'd first scented Stiles' interest and had felt his own climb. 

He knows precisely how this would go were it any other hookup. Peter's gotten Stiles off - _twice_ \- and so he's due his own now. He can't pretend that he isn't hard, like the front of his jeans aren't fitting a little more snug than they would usually. But, as he watches Stiles stagger back against the wall as Peter rises to his feet, and as he catches that brief glimpse of uncertainty and instability, he has to wonder if maybe he _should_ follow the expected script.

Stiles seems to think so. At least, he does if the way that his gaze slides down to Peter's clothes on the floor is any indication. Peter looks him over slowly, thoughtfully, mindful of Stiles' complaints but not _really_ giving them much mind. Not when he's thinking.

"You're right," Peter quips idly, sucking at his teeth. "I _can_ taste your enjoyment. But it _does_ occur to me that you can't. A bit rude on my part."

Before Stiles can likely put two and two together, Peter reaches up and grabs Stiles' chin forcefully to hold his head in place. Then Peter leans in, kissing him, and he makes a point to lick into Stiles' mouth, _thoroughly_ enjoying the idea that Stiles has no choice but to taste himself on Peter's tongue. It's really the little things that make life worth living. The little things, and Stiles' inevitable outrage.

Yet, even as he kisses Stiles' lips raw, Peter _does_ keep thinking about the next move. Oh, he could easily have Stiles bent over the bed in _minutes_ if he wanted to, but Peter's not sure he does. Not when Stiles is so amusing when he's feeling caught off guard.

* * *

Stiles should really pull up his boxers and jeans, but he has this thought that, because he hadn't done it immediately, it would be weird to do it now. Maybe that doesn't make sense because it's not as if he just loves standing here with his cock out, wet with Peter's saliva and softening from the crazy amazing blowjob. It's actually getting a little cold even, but now Stiles feels like he's _not_ doing it to prove something.

Stiles wants to assume that Peter has a plan of some sort, because isn't that guy like, the conniving and plotting type? All he's missing is a villainous moustache to twirl, a monocle and maybe a pipe. What does that make Stiles then? The good guy getting toyed with? Well, there's worse things to be than that, right? At least Stiles is aware that Peter's a douchebag.

By now, it should come as no surprise what Peter responds with and does. Too bad ' _should_ ' doesn't mean anything, because Stiles is caught off guard by Peter saying he's been rude about the taste thing, and more than that, he's stunned when Peter's mouth claims his own in a kiss. 

Now, normally kissing is great. Stiles knows that he likes kissing Peter, but it becomes quickly apparent what Peter is doing - Peter's tongue licking into his mouth to share Stiles' _taste_. How thoughtful, right?

Wrong.

The taste isn't pleasant, Stiles can admit. Not that it's volatile acid or anything, it's just not finger lickin' _tasty_. Frozen, Peter's doing most of the kissing as Stiles' fingers twitch, unsure what to do, because this can't be hot. When his brain finally catches up, he turns his head to break the kiss. Stiles gasps for breath before rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand. Peter, thankfully, backs up.

"Why the fuck are you so weird?" Stiles blurts out. Probably a rhetorical question for all the ages. And screw proving a point - Stiles hastily pulls up his boxers and jeans, because who knows what Peter might try next.

* * *

To Stiles' obvious displeasure, Peter is _quite_ pleased with himself. Stiles might not kiss back, but Peter has still accomplished what he'd set out to do. Stiles is unsettled, feeling unbalanced. As much as pinning him to a wall and fucking him until he cries would be satisfying, that would likely just rob Stiles of his delightful personality. Someday Peter does intend to do it. He intends to string Stiles out until he can't take it anymore, but only if the game lets it go that far.

Given how Stiles had acted tonight, Peter's guessing it's an eventuality, not a possibility.

Still, Stiles doesn't wind up kissing him back, but he _does_ take his own taste well enough. Stiles is the one to break the kiss and, smirking, Peter leans back, letting Stiles pull away. He reaches up to wipe at his mouth and Peter chuckles in answer, charmed despite himself.

"I'm _weird_ because I don't let myself get caught up by any of your petty little human concerns," Peter answers simply, watching as Stiles hastily buttons his jeans back up. It's a shame to hide his cock from view, especially when Peter would _absolutely_ play with it more, but maybe the anticipation is as good as the having. He wets his lips.

His own jeans feel tight, tight enough that Peter doubts it will be fully comfortable before too long, but already he's beginning to make up his mind. He watches Stiles fumble with the button of his jeans and then, casually, Peter turns away, bending down to pick up his discarded shirt. He takes a second to dust it off and then, still facing away, he pulls it back on, then bends down again to pick up his jacket.

"That said, this has been _fun_. We really should do it again sometime. I'm sure you'd be willing. You usually are."

* * *

Off balance is exactly what Stiles doesn't like, but Peter likely does. Scratch that, Peter _totally_ likes throwing him off balance, probably thinks it's fun and gets him all smug. And Stiles would think that, at some point here, he'll get used to it and grow some thicker skin, but he's not sure it works like that. Knowing his luck, he'll never get used to Peter's antics. 

Antics. Yeah, that's definitely what Peter does. Peter's all about the antics, and Stiles keeps playing into them or helping pave the way. Which is incredibly annoying and something Stiles is going to endeavor to change asap. Peter's dumbass laugh only reassures Stiles more. 

As an answer, 'petty little human concerns' is bullshit, because it's not as if Peter being a werewolf makes him so high and mighty and _above_ it all. 

Stiles might be doing up his pants, but when _Peter_ starts doing the same thing, but with his shirt _and_ facing away, indignation rears its ugly head. Maybe Stiles wasn't done ogling, okay? Last he saw, Peter was still hard (or so he thought) and Stiles _still_ hasn't got to do anything with Peter's dick--

But he doesn't know how to voice this protest. With a disgruntled expression on his face, he watches Peter slip on the jacket, really selling the point that this - whatever this is - is done. Stiles pushes off the wall, but as he does so, Peter gives him a bitchy wrapping up comment that's somehow worse than the wetness of his boxers. ' _Do it again sometime_ ' like it's some casual hobby? And he's ' _usually willing?_ ' Points to bring up, but first: 

"What the fuck?" Stiles blurts and he can't help himself, he steps toward Peter and grabs at his sleeve jacket. "We're done?"

* * *

Peter knows that Stiles isn't going to appreciate his decision in the slightest, but that's all the more reason to do it. Despite Stiles' clear obliviousness, this _is_ a game, and despite pulling his shirt back on and gearing up to leave, Peter knows that he's won. Stiles likely doesn't, and if the uptick to his pulse is any indication, he's not happy as Peter casually redresses. It's part of the pull, part of the lure, and besides, Peter doesn't have specific plans for whatever this is. All he knows is that he likes taking Stiles apart, and Stiles keeps _letting_ him. 

Why plan ahead when reality offers him repeated opportunities to explore different avenues? Already, Peter's mind is working, considering what the future might bring. He'd _had_ an idea before he'd booked this room in particular. That might be a possibility for the future...

Before he can drift off in his own thoughts, suddenly Stiles reaches out and grabs at Peter's sleeve. The leather under his hand creaks its protest and Peter glances back, admiring the spill of color over Stiles' cheeks. It's half from exertion and arousal, but it's also half from indignation. Peter's genuinely not sure which he prefers. 

"Well, yes," he answers, like he's perplexed that Stiles doesn't think so. "You didn't seem inclined to do anything else, and I'm nothing if not patient. I've shown you how to suck someone off now; we can revisit it sometime. I paid for the room for the night," he adds offhandedly, nodding around him dismissively. 

"If you'd like to stay, you're welcome to."

* * *

It's almost mortifying to reach out and grab at Peter's sleeve in protest. Maybe it'll be mortifying later, but right now confusion and frustration are prickling through Stiles, and that's why he does it.

It shows that he wants more. That he _doesn't_ want Peter to leave. And both those two things are damning. Fuck. Stiles really wishes he hadn't done it. Hadn't so blatantly exposed himself, even with his clothes on. This might actually be worse. Or at least a different-worse than Peter simply fondling his giblets.

Right now it feels worse, Peter looking over his shoulder like he couldn't be bothered to get up in arms over this, like he's the coolest fucker in the universe and all he's missing are douchebag sunglasses or something, and Stiles is merely some sycophantic swooning loser--

Okay, that might be a stretch, but the sentiment remains true. Peter's annoyingly casual about this coming to an end. 

Stiles' hand falls away at Peter's answer. _He_ didn't seem inclined to do anything else? Excuse me? It's not as if Stiles was consulted on the matter because he does - did - want to do more, but now that's being taken away from him. And rescheduled for sometime later, whatever that means.

The cherry on top of the sundae is Peter magnanimously inviting him to stay here - that he's _welcome_ to.

"Like hell I'm staying here," Stiles retorts definitively, straightening up. He can't imagine staying here without Peter - he can barely imagine that he's here with Peter already. 

"Fine. Whatever. We're done. And thanks for proving me right, by the way." That Peter's skill is that of a professional cock sucker.

With that said, Stiles storms out of the room and makes a beeline for his Jeep, all too comforted to just _see_ something familiar and safe. He has no idea what to think about... well, _everything_ , and if history is set on repeating itself, this infuriating feeling isn't going anywhere. 

Also: Peter Hale is now synonymous with the word _infuriating._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Did you like this? Comments - no matter how short or lengthy - encourage us to write more, so please take the time to leave one and show your support. 😊


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